Achieving Greatness
by Nocez
Summary: Harry Potter understands that a war is coming and he understands that he can't just sit back and see what happens. Something needs to change. Strong!Determined!Harry. AU post-GoF. Not slash, by the by.
1. Chapter 1

**Achieving Greatness – Chapter 1**

AN2: Edited, mostly to get rid of Harry's psychic knowledge of his 5th year Occlumency lessons. Thank you, anonymous reviewer, for pointing that out!

Again. I was made aware of some bad math on my part when it came to Eliza's age (by SlytherinLover143, thanks). Just changed a couple of words, really, and Eliza is now about 21 - as originally intended.

And the journey begins!

'

_You picked the losing side, Potter! I warned you!_

A ghost of a smile.

_I told you you ought to choose your company more carefully, remember?_

'Malfoy should've taken his own advice.'

Now it was the last day of June and tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow he would be different. He kept working, kept sweating, but he was endless.

Why more magical people didn't exercise properly, he couldn't fathom. Why didn't _he?_ He had been weak, but no more. His recovery-rate was amazing. He was hurt, aching and almost collapsing – but he could keep going. And in that sense, tomorrow would be no different.

Maybe that was just who he was, rather than what he was. He collapsed on the cold wooden floor finally, the chill soothing his back. Breathe in, breathe out, repeat. Feel the burn, up again. The burn is weakness leaving the body.

This is what separates the ordinary from the extraordinary, he realizes. The will to go on, to keep fighting. To become more than what you are now and overcome whatever obstacle blocks your path.

_They'll be the first to go, now the Dark Lord's back!_

Fuck that.

Voldemort was an obstacle. His Death Eaters were obstacles. Even the fucking Ministry of Magic was turning out to be an obstacle. But he would overcome.

Because he was Harry fucking Potter.

The sun went down, and so did he. Blissful unconsciousness. Tomorrow would be different.

'

BLEEEP BLEEEP BLEEEP

BAM!

6 am. He felt like a new man. Boy. Whatever. The ache in his muscles was gone and he felt strong, so it was time to go.

Time will not slow down just because something unpleasant lies ahead. Lesson learned. That's why you have to make the most of the time you are given, and that's why Harry wasn't wasting another summer holed up in the Dursley household. He threw on some grey, non-descript clothes and grabbed his pre-packed backpack. Most of his stuff would have to be left behind, down in the cupboard underneath the stairs. Books and clothes could be replaced. Wand, invisibility cloak, picture album – those were necessary. Hedwig was with Hermione by now and his Firebolt securely left behind at Hogwarts.

Whatever comes, will come, but you can do your best to make sure it's not the death of everything you hold dear. The wait and see approach was no longer in line with Harry's philosophy.

His step was soft and sure as he slipped out the backdoor and immediately through the hedge into the neighbor's backyard, making his way towards the bus stop. Keeping his head down, no one gave him a second glance as he swiped his bus pass and settled down for the ride into London.

Breathe in, breathe out, feel the burn. The burn wasn't there, but the idea of it drove everything else from his mind. It felt good, he felt focused and utterly, utterly calm. What was that? His mind was blank on the surface now, but there was something more there, so he tried to look deeper.

By the time he reached King's Cross Harry hadn't made much more progress. He had gotten a blurry look at whatever was hiding beneath the surface of his mind. Some kind of structure… But nowhere near enough to tell what it was. Maybe next time. Another little mystery of being Harry Potter.

He started walking towards the Leaky Cauldron, but caught himself in time. Risky. As soon as anyone found out where he was, the jig was up. Dumbledore would haul him back _home_ and this entire summer would be useless.

If not the Leaky Cauldron, then how? He needed access to his Gringott's account, the money he had on him wouldn't last more than a week and that was assuming he could acquire magical housing without getting recognized. Pulling the ballcap further down his forehead, Harry bought himself a muggle newspaper and proceeded to the corner of the muggle bookshop right next to the Cauldron.

Harry had been leaning against the brickwork of the bookshop, waiting and watching under the guise of waiting for the business to open for the better part of an hour when he saw a sketchy-looking fellow exit the Cauldron. Slowly folding up the paper, he followed at a distance, weaving through early-morning commuters and the like. The man kept wringing his hands and looking around warily as if he knew he was being followed, but Harry kept a cool head. A couple of streets down the man with the shabby fur coat and bandaged-up hands turned into a narrow alleyway.

Harry promptly crossed the street and when he drew up on the opposite side of the alleyway he dropped his newspaper. Bending down to pick up the paper again, he scanned the alley out of the corner of his vision. The man was gone.

Of course, there was a possibility he had simply apparated away, but Harry hoped that wasn't the case. He followed, and as soon as he stepped into the narrow alley, he felt something change. Proceeding with caution, he ran his hands along the walls of the alley, hoping for a clue. The alley turned left and reached a dead-end, a backdoor wholly blocked by a dumpster stretching the width of the alley. Strange, Harry thought, looking around. He noticed some odd markings and discoloration of the brickwork on the right side of the door. Regular graffiti or a passageway? Running his hands over the wall, he felt faint traces of magic in it. Wands out, y'reckon? Tap, tap, tap.

Nothing. Taptaptap. Taptaptap. Taptaptap. Having tried a multitude of combinations, Harry finally got a reaction. There we go…

A low rumbling sound filled the deserted alleyway as the brickwork slid aside, forming a passageway much like the one at the back of the Cauldron, revealing a much danker and darker part of wizardtown. Looking around the corner, back out at the street, Harry realized this whole alley was most probably under a muggle-aversion charm, the change he felt before.

This might be Knockturn Alley, or it might be another part of wizarding London Harry hadn't experienced yet. No time like the present…

'

Half an hour later, Harry had found his way to Diagon and more importantly, to Gringotts. Passing through the enormous bronze doors, he scanned to sparse crowd. Nobody of interest, so he slipped in and approached a free teller-goblin.

"Good morning, Grapplefang." Harry said, having glanced at the name plaque.

The goblin looked at him quizzically. "Can I help you, wizard?"

"I'd like to speak to someone about my vault, as – ah, my key is no longer in my possession. This matter requires the utmost confidentiality." Harry replied.

The goblin didn't seem to take the hint. With a sneer, he ground out, "And who are you, little wizard, to demand such discretion? To try to access a vault without a key?"

With a heavy sigh, he decided to take a chance, pushed up the ballcap and tapped his infamous scar for emphasis before once again covering it.

"Ah." The goblin looked momentarily lost in thought, "Of course, wizard, of course. Follow me."

Harry was momentarily stunned at the varying reactions, but soon rounded the corner and followed the goblin. Through a maze of corridors and two more doors he was lead before arriving at an office-door labeled 'Steeljaw'.

"Steeljaw is your family account manager, Mr. Potter. He should be able to sort things out." With a single knock on the heavy oak door, Grapplefang left Harry to stare after him in confusion once more. 'Family account manager? What family account?'

"Step inside and be welcome, Mr. Potter." A gruff voice announced on the other side of the door.

"Err, hello?" Harry said, sticking his head in. He was getting less and less sure of his loose plan the further into it he got, but going backwards was not an option.

"Sit down, Mr. Potter. Grapplefang sent a message ahead informing me of your situation."

Dropping into a comfortable leather chair in front of the impressively sized Steeljaw's desk, Harry blurted out, "Who are you? What's this about a family account?"

"You weren't aware of the Potter account, Mr. Potter? Your guardian, Mr. Dumbledore, should've informed you of the state of family affairs come your eleventh birthday." Steeljaw looked disconcerting, but Harry was vaguely aware that was probably the goblin version of concern.

"I haven't been told anything about a family vault. I haven't even been allowed the key to my own vault." Harry growled out, growing more angry with the headmaster with each passing word.

"I see." Steeljaw seemed angry himself. "In that case, I shall have to bring you up to speed. The Steeljaw's have had amiable relations with the Potter's for generations and have managed the Potter accounts through even through two rebellions to date." Pause. Steeljaw, which Harry now assumed was the goblin's surname, tapped a clawed finger against the desktop a couple of times, thinking.

"First of all, both the key-warded trust vault and the blood-warded family vault are, of course, yours. They total a small fortune, but I will get you a copy of the recent accounting to satisfy any further curiosity." Here Steeljaw paused as if to make sure Harry was following, so Harry nodded him on.

"They were both kept in stasis by order of Chief Warlock Dumbledore following your parents' deaths, awaiting your return into the wizarding world. Unusual, but not unheard of. However, upon reaching the age of 11 you should have been informed of their existence as well as the family legacy, being the Potter family Lordship and business.

"The Potter family have traditionally been enchanters though many, like your Auror father, have historically chosen _not_ to take up the profession themselves, the Potter family still owns large parts of several enchanting-based businesses, for example a 20% share of the Nimbus Company and a 51% majority share in the Traverse Trunk Company, manufacturers though not retailers of multi-compartment trunks."

"Alright, alright… Hold up a minute." Harry was going into information overload. He knew he wasn't poor by any means, but this was a whole new level of crazy. Why had Dumbledore kept this from him? "I've got a lot of money and some business investments from previous Potter's. What's this about a lordship?"

Steeljaw slid a small, carved wooden box across the table that didn't look to have any way of opening. "The Potter's, much like the Black's and the Malfoy's are an Ancient and Noble Family within the wizarding world. This box contains the Potter family ring. If the ring accepts you, as it indeed should if you are the last remaining Potter, you will be considered Lord Potter; an adult in your own right, with premature access to the family vault and a voice on the Wizengamot, your society's legislative body and high court."

Harry was speechless. He had come here hoping to squirrel away some more money from his vault, his _trust_ vault he corrected himself, without Dumbledore finding out and without attracting notice, this was something else entirely.

Idly, he picked up the wooden box and, with a gasp, promptly dropped it again as it sprang open upon his touch, revealing a thick golden ring with a stag-head emblem. Almost unconsciously he pulled it out an slipped it onto his left ring finger, feeling it and feeling it feeling him as magic coursed through his body.

"You're not dead. Marvelous." Steeljaw sounded somewhat disappointed.

Harry's eyes snapped up and locked onto the goblin's. "I COULD HAVE DIED?!"

"Only if you were not Harry Potter. Not to worry, not to worry – just standard impostor checking." Steeljaw replied with a sharp-toothed grin. "Now, would you like to access any of your vaults, Lord Potter?"

Harry drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment, collecting himself. "Yeah, I'd like to go down to the family vault, but first; none of that Lord-stuff when we're behind closed doors, y'hear? I don't like it. Call me Harry." Steeljaw looked quizzical, but nodded. "And since I am no longer in possession of my trust vault key, have everything but one knut transferred to the family vault. Is there a portable way to withdraw funds?"

Steeljaw seemed well-prepared, as he instantly slapped a money-pouch and a wallet on the desk. "One standard-issue vault-pouch to easily access up to 200 galleons at a time, up to a maximum of 1000 galleons a day. Any larger sums will have to be handled personally here at Gringott's. The wallet functions the same way, except with muggle pounds. As they are both keyed to your vault, the bloodwards extend to their use – I would not recommend asking a friend to withdraw from either of them. Shall we get going, Harry?"

Pocketing the items, Harry smiled at him. "Yes, please. Thank you Steeljaw, for clearing everything up for me. You'll be joining me down to the vaults?"

"I'd like to yes," Steeljaw replied. "Now that the Potter accounts are once again open and I can start additional investments at your leisure, I'd like to do a bit of personal inventory. And you're most welcome."

"I'm not sure exactly how much money I have, Steeljaw. Would ten percent of the current account balance be enough to make some solid investments?"

"I doubt I need that much, Mr. Potter, but I thank you for your vote of confidence. I'll have some papers brought down to the vault to formalize the agreement." A burst of magic sped away as Steeljaw's clawed finger touched the stone wall of the hallway.

'

At his touch, the door to vault number 31 grinded open, releasing a burst of stale air as fresh air flooded the vault.

"I'll have someone sent down to reapply the refreshment and ventilation charms, Harry." Steeljaw assured him.

Harry just nodded absently as he stepped into the vault; it was huge, larger than the Great Hall at Hogwarts to be sure. Mostly it was filled floor to ceiling with small coins of gold, silver and copper but as he walked further in he recognized that was not all that the vault contained.

Along the right wall there was an assortment of items Harry assumed had come out of the family profession at one point or another as well as a desk with some papers on it. Harry made his way over to the desk, looking over a strange collection of jewellery, outdated racing brooms and knickknacks on the way.

"These are deeds." He gasped out suddenly, turning to Steeljaw, papers in hand. "I own property?"

Steeljaw gave another toothy grin. "But of course, Harry." His face fell just as quickly. "Sadly, the Potter Manor and the cottage in Godric's Hollow were both destroyed during the course of war with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and are not fit for living. However… It might interest you to know that the Potter family owns two buildings of flats, one in muggle London and the other right here in Diagon."

"We're on the same page, you and I." Harry replied, "I'm in need of a place to stay and some serious magical instruction, Steeljaw. Again, utmost confidentiality. Could you arrange for a well-warded flat in the Diagon building, furnished and inwardly shielded from magical damage, do you think?"

"I'll do you one better, Harry. I'll also have a duo of our top curse-breakers and warders agree to a non-disclosure oath and fit to instruct you by the end of the week as well. Trustworthy individuals, I assure you. We goblins don't let just anybody work with our gold."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "How much is this going to cost me, Steeljaw?" That prompted a hearty laugh from the tall goblin.

"Oh, you do have some sense in you I see. Not to worry, the fees will be expensive – you're paying for the best here, Harry – but they will hardly make a dent in the Potter accounts. If you'd like, the sum can be subtracted from the ten percent you have already signed over to my control for investments. I do hope you consider yourself a worthy investment."

Harry laughed as well. "Yeah, yeah I like that. Make it so."

'

Late that same afternoon found Harry sound asleep on the couch of his new flat, three blocks down from Gringott's bank. It had been a stressful day by any man's standards and Harry, despite his conviction, was still not yet 15. Goblins were a very efficient people as long as there was money to back up your requests. During the six hours Harry and Steeljaw spent in the meeting, signing papers and exploring the contents of the Potter family vault, the formerly empty flat had been completely furnished and warded before disappearing from the memory of every worker, its location locked away firmly in Harry's mind by way of the Fidelius Charm.

Tomorrow Harry would truly meet the world as his new self. In his exploration of the Potter family vault Harry had picked up an assortment of useful item, the most prominent being a goblin-made mythril bracelet enchanted by one of his ancestors to carry a light shielding charm and a modifiable permanent glamour-charm. It would stop most low-level curses and jinxes, as well as project his chosen appearance to all senses of an observer as long as the bracelet was not removed.

Somewhat appropriately to Harry's mind, Steeljaw informed him that the bracelet carried symbols of Ahkram, the goblin God of War. Harry thought the rune-patterns looked like childish scribbling, but who was he to argue with an actual goblin?

Thus, the Harry sound asleep on his new couch was a straw-blonde, blue-eyed 20-something, a good foot taller and quite a bit broader than Harry's real form, going under the alias Marcus Carver.

The flat was large, but simply and sparsely furnished. It included a fully stocked kitchen, a living room with a large plain black suede sofa and matching pair of armchairs, a magically expanded training room for dueling and exercise and a bedroom with a king-size bed, the comfort level of which Harry had never before experienced. Which begs the question of why he had fallen asleep on the couch. He couldn't tell you if he wanted to.

The living room walls were lined with mostly empty bookshelves, something Harry was planning to remedy as soon as possible. At the moment they only held a collection of moderately suited spare wands from the Potter family vault and a few knickknacks Harry had yet to figure out the purpose of, along with the bloodwarded family grimoire detailing the discoveries and creations of their long-running enchanting tradition. Almost the entire family library had been destroyed along with the Potter properties in the last war, but luckily the grimoire remained.

A sharp series of taps on the living room window startled Harry awake, rolling out of the couch, his Holly and phoenix-feather wand flying to his hand from the newly acquired wand holster on his forearm.

Seeing the owl staring at him intently from outside the window, Harry felt mildly retarded. Steeljaw had said he would owl and Steeljaw had been made aware of the secret location. In retrospect it was obvious that an owl would still be able to find him. Shaking himself properly awake, Harry opened the window and untied the letter.

_Harry,_

_Curse-breaker Weasley and Warder Bane have both agreed to non-disclosure oaths as promised, and are both very talented individuals with quite impressive knowledge even outside their areas of expertise. _

_Meet them outside The Grimoire tomorrow at 9 am to set up a schedule for the following months._

_Steeljaw_

Short and efficient. Steeljaw was and exemplary goblin, Harry had to admit, as he scribbled an affirmative on the note and sent the owl on its way. He wondered about Bill Weasley though… How would he react if he found out Harry was on the run? How would Bill react when he found out what Harry planned to do with the knowledge Bill would teach him? No matter. Non-disclosure oath in place, the worst thing that could happen was that Harry would have to get a new tutor. No big issue, but he decided to keep his identity concealed from his tutors for now. A tap on his glamour bracelet dialed back his age to around 17, a bit more believable age for someone in need of tutoring.

Having already more than an hour chasing the elusive structure in his mind after inspecting his new home, Harry set about running physical exercises to improve his fitness, strength and reflexes. Being able to use magic so early after his escape, and with his own wand no less thanks to the emancipatory clause of Lordship, had turned out advantageous.

Pushup, pushup, roll. Pushup, pushup, flip over. Situp, situp…

The fitness exercises were the same, but Harry had been worried he would have to steal the wand of someone over seventeen to be able to use magic, both for setting up his reflex and dodging exercises and for his upcoming lessons. Steeljaw had explained that the Passing of Lordship was recognized under the old wizarding laws and automatically detected in the Ministry Department of Records; as such the Trace had been lifted from his wand the moment he bonded to the Potter family ring.

… Situp, situp. As he rolled to his feet, he tapped his wand to the t-shirt and sweatpants he was wearing, exponentially increasing their weight, before resuming his rotation with squats.

The official record of his emancipation also meant that if nobody had noticed his escape from Privet Drive in the last 12 hours, then they certainly would soon. Harry had to assume someone would be keeping close watch over his files and Merlin knows what kind of security measures the headmaster had in place.

As a Lord of an Ancient and Noble House, Harry should be somewhat immune to Dumbledore's interference but the old man had not shown himself to be the most honest of individuals as of late, despite his status as 'Leader of the Light'.

An hour later, the clock approaching 7 pm, Harry collapsed in a heap on the floor of his training room, having done some dodging exercises with stinging-charm infused, animated tennis balls and target practice with the three animated bull's-eyes on the far wall. With a wave of his holly wand the tennis balls stopped battering and stinging his bruised body.

Touching his left forearm, Harry assured himself that his thrice-great uncle Charlus' yew and dragon heartstring wand was still firmly in its holster. Magic coursed through him at the touch – the thick and brutal wand responded almost as well as his trusty holly instrument – and having a spare never hurt anyone.

Harry gave his well-stung body and the multitude of off-target scorch-marks on the wall a dirty look before focusing inwards.

Breathe in, breathe out, feel the burn. He could call up the blurry structure to the forefront of his mind at a moment's notice now, but was still at a loss as to what it was. 'Try again, do better. Get a book, maybe.'

"Blood hell that hurts." Harry groaned in pain as he rolled back to his feet, heading for the training room shower.

Fifteen minutes later found him showered and dressed in the same grey castoffs, after a series of scourgifys and drying charms made them almost presentable. That wardrobe would need some filling, much like the bookshelves. Having discarded the ball cap now that his scar was well-hidden by the glamour, the wind felt good running through his hair on the short trip down the road to McDougals' pub and inn, in the style of the Cauldron though slightly less dirty.

Ordering a huge dinner to replenish his energy, Harry seated himself in a window booth and tucked in while keeping an eye on the people around the alley. He watched kids running around on the street, playing games he didn't know the names of and laughing, while adults strolled down the street with their post-work shopping in hand, chatting amiably without a care in the world.

'I want that', Harry thought to himself, 'I want to be normal and carefree, but I can't keep deluding myself. The time of sitting down for ice-cream with friends at Fortescue's and reading Quidditch magazines for the fun of it is past.'

He sighed heavily and shoveled some more pork in his mouth, suddenly reminding himself of Ron with the ridiculous amounts he was eating. 'I should send out some letters,' he supposed ', let everyone know that I'm okay. I'm doing this to protect me and mine, after all, not so they can worry themselves into cardiac arrest. Tomorrow.' He promised.

'

The Grimoire was a bookshop for those of eccentric taste in subject matter, that much was clear. It was to Flourish and Blott's what the Restricted Section was to the Hogwarts library. It was old and dusty, secret and forbidden.

The bell above the door gave a disproportionately loud gong-ing sound, announcing his presence as he stepped inside. His now-blue eyes swept over the shops interior, taking in the gloomy and musty atmosphere of the shop. Old, worn books that had passed many hands in their days, with only the bare minimum of modern works mixed in, and sorted in no apparent order.

There was a heavy feel of old magic in the air as he browsed shelf after shelf, his eyes and hands exploring the covers. He was an hour early for his meeting, but he had already been around the alley stocking up on new clothes, premade potions and the fifth to seventh year curriculum books. In any case, those purchases were necessities, but Harry doubted that a seventh year's knowledge would save him in his next confrontation with the Dark Lord or his followers. The Grimoire might be just the place to find an edge, an ace up his sleeve.

'

"… _Intent and Influence by Anon_, _Blood, Magic and the__ Old Gods by Trenton Ravenclaw_, _Regarding the Consciousness: A treatise on the Mind Arts, author unknown_, _Morphosis by Joshua Harkness_…" The gnarly old man behind the counter finished tallying up the books and eyed the youth suspiciously. "A bit on the heavy side for such a young man, innit?"

Harry smiled thinly back at him. "Knowledge is power, Mr. Grim, and I'm late for a meeting. What do I owe you?"

Mr. Grim brightened slightly at the remark, pushing the two stacks of books across the counter. "So few seem to realize that these days, Mr. Carver. You're getting yourself a good start on understanding the obscure magicks with this lot. That'll be 743 galleons and 4 sickles."

Harry's smile grew more pronounced, 'a good start'? That was nearly eight times the expense of his other shopping endeavors today combined, expensive nutrient and grow-accelerating potions not excluded. "I should hope so, at that price, Mr. Grim. How about we make it an even 700 and I'll be sure to take my business here when I'm in need of additional material or find myself with precious tomes I no longer need?"

The old man gave rumbling chuckle, piercing grey eyes re-evaluating him through circular spectacles. "You have good taste and guts kid, two qualities I appreciate. You have yourself a deal."

Harry shook the man's wiry hand, surprised at the strength of the handshake, packed up his purchases in his black three-compartment briefcase and bid him adieu.

'

GONG!

Making a subtle exit from the Grimoire was not an easy thing to do; Bill Weasley and the tall, raven-haired woman with him locked him in their gazes instantly as he stepped outside. Suddenly Harry was nervous and felt himself starting to sweat – if anyone save Moody, Dumbledore or Voldemort could see clean through his enchantment, these would be the ones.

"Mr. Weasley, Ms. Bane." He greeted with a nod as he approached them. "I'm Marcus Carver, it's a pleasure to meet you both."

"Please, call me Bill. I don't need to feel like a middle-aged man for the next two months." Bill grinned.

"And you can call me Marcus," Harry grinned back. "How about you, Ms. Bane?"

"Eliza." She replied stiffly. "You're our client?"

"Gods, yeah. Steeljaw didn't tell you?"

They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Bill was carefree and amiable, dressed muggle-style in torn jeans and a worn leather jacket over a white tank top, trademark fang-earring in place, he seemingly saw tutoring as a vacation from his usual tomb-raiding.

Eliza Bane on the other hand seemed highly suspicious of the arrangement and gave the impression of carefully analyzing his every move – perhaps rightfully so, having been ripped away from her usual duties of ward-placement and upkeep and only told she was needed as a tutor for an anonymous, very important client of the bank.

Eliza looked a bit younger than Bill. Slim, her features sharp and her eyes piercing. Harry fought down the unpleasant sensation that his illusion was failing. _'All in my head.'_

"I understand you're both prodigies in your fields, both recently completing your masteries?" Harry asked, leading them towards his flat.

"Yeah," Bill replied, "We took our masteries three years back, at the same time actually. Eliza setting wards and me tearing them to shreds – great fun!" He nudged Eliza with his elbow, winking.

Eliza gave him a small glare. "Hard work, too, we both spent a couple of days in St. Mungos for magical exhaustion after the competition got the better of us."

"Ouch." Harry grinned. "And only four years out from your NEWTs? Highly impressive. I hope to learn a lot from you both."

Eliza huffed. "The last year a Durmstrang is spent on post-NEWT studies, and I was only a year out at the time. Red-top here was a bit slow on the uptake, y'see."

"Hey, no need to get mean!" Bill's smile thoroughly contradicted the hurt tone of voice. "What is it you're hoping to accomplish this summer, Marcus?" He asked curiously, "You're, what? Going into your seventh year at Hogwarts? Shouldn't you be enjoying your time in the sun before NEWT exams drive you bonkers?"

"That… is probably a discussion best left for a private setting." Marcus replied with a smile as they stopped outside his flat-building. "Memorize this note." He unfurled a scrap of paper with his current address from his front jeans pocket.

As they both nodded an affirmative, he burnt the paper slip, and then led them inside and up the stairs.

'

"Welcome to my home!" Harry announced as he closed the door behind them, giving a sweeping gesture at the flat.

"Oh, eh… Cozy?" Bill replied uncertainly upon inspecting the Spartan surroundings. "Yeah, real cozy." Eliza looked a bit uncertain as well.

Harry laughed, "I just moved in yesterday, left all the old stuff behind. It'll get better with time."

He gave them the tour, which was basically pointing at different doors and announcing "Bathroom, kitchen, my bedroom," then led them into the training room.

Eliza gasped. "There is some highly advanced expansion magic at work here."

"Target practice?" Bill asked, pointing out the moving targets on the back wall. Luckily the wall had self-repaired the damage from Harry's training session the day before, leaving no evidence behind to indicate some of his more horrendous aiming.

"Yeah, I practice targeting while avoiding these," He picked up a tennis ball, "using standard bludger charms and infused stinging hexes. Really gets your blood flowing." He grinned sheepishly.

"So…" Eliza intoned slowly. "Back on topic, what exactly are you trying to accomplish this summer? Because this is some pretty hardcore dueling practice."

"Well… Listen. I don't need you to believe what I believe, but I'm pretty sure there are dark times coming and I need to be ready." Eliza looked like she was about to interrupt him, so he held up a hand to stop her.

"Death Eaters at the World Cup? That's a fucking sign if I ever saw one." Harry looked them both in the eyes, "So I need your oversight in case I fuck up and the utmost of your teaching ability while I try to become the very best that I can be."

Harry took a breath, preparing to launch into semi-fiction, "My parents were killed by a dark wizard a couple of years back while on vacation in Albania. I'm not going to end up like that if the shit hits the fan around here. I need to be good enough to take those bastards. You two are up to standards, but I'm not yet, and with regular schooling I don't know that I'll ever be. I need to be excellent."

"That… that's a lot to take in, Marcus." Bill answered, softly. "For what it's worth, I agree with you, and that's actually why I'm back in Britain in the first place. The desk job you pulled me out of was boring me to death, but I wanted to be close to my family in case things got ugly." Harry nodded to show he understood.

Eliza remained silent for a moment, uncertainty finally settling in determination. "You probably know that Durmstrang is fabled to produce nothing but Dark wizards," Here she held up a hand to keep Harry from interrupting, "and while Durmstrang is certainly more accepting of the grey areas and parts of the Dark, I feel it is almost an obligation to disprove that idiotic myth. If there's a war coming I'll be pretty high up on the recruit or kill list. You want to be a soldier, Carver? Fine, another good man on my side." She chuckled. "Assuming you're any good, that is."

"Glad to see we're on the same page." Harry smiled back at them, clapping his hands together. "Let's get down to business. Now, I've been homeschooled by my uncle for most of my life, so I'm not exactly sure where I'm at compared to the Hogwarts curriculum, but I do know that my Patronus Charm is killer and my dodging skills have saved my life." Raised eye-brows greeted the statement.

Harry led them back into the living room, starting to unpack the days shopping. "Don't ask. Anyway, I'll be working on physical conditioning, aim and dodging whenever I'm not with you – or reading anything useful I can get my hands on. Emotion-based magic seems to be my playground, but I'll be looking around."

He nodded to Eliza, indicating the books purchased at The Grimoire. "I'll be straying into the grey magic there, so your Durmstrang experiences might come in useful. What I need from you two is to get me up to par on combat and medical magic, focusing on utility, and supervision if I attempt anything dangerous – this won't be a walk in the park – as well as getting me up to at least a Journeyman level in Curse-Breaking and Warding. Curse-Breaking can get you out of a tight spot and into places you aren't wanted, a well-placed ward can decide a battle. Are you with me on this?"

For some reason neither of them could really put their finger on, both Bill and Eliza found themselves nodding, determined and inspired to help the young man before them achieve greatness.

There was a war coming.

'

End Chapter 1

AN: Randomly inspired by two body-building motivational quotes that I used in the first scene. I don't know if this will turn into a full story ever, ever, ever – but I'm going to try.

Constructive criticism is wanted, needed and awesome.

Pointers on story flow, characterization and dialogue are especially appreciated.

Please excuse any misspellings or grammatical mistakes, been quite a while since I wrote anything in English. Also, if I've accidentally written Harry when he's in the Marcus persona, do let me know so that I can fix it. Un-beta'd, in case that wasn't obvious.

There is a smattering of direct quotes (from memory) from the books, hopefully only pre-OotP in this chapter. There will likely be in future chapters as well, if I manage to continue. I'm like that.

Oh, and rating for safety. There will be blood.


	2. Chapter 2

Achieving Greatness – Chapter 2

'

_I'm fine_, the notes all read, stacked neatly at the center of his ornate mahogany desk. Four of them, all signed simply _Harry_. One from Hermione Granger, one from Ronald Weasley, one from Remus Lupin and one from Sirius Black. The last one humorously addressed to 'Snuffles', but sadly the situation was no laughing matter.

Albus Dumbledore sat in the comfortable brown leather armchair behind the desk, troubled. His fingers steepled in front of him, he gazed blindly past them and pondered the notes. As soon as he'd gotten word of the short and seemingly unprovoked message of reassurance from the almost frantic Mr. Black, he'd of course sent Alastor to investigate Harry's condition at Number 4.

They had been shocked to find that Mr. Potter's relatives weren't even aware of his absence and that there was no trace of where he went. It was further troubling that most of Harry's belongings had been left behind, as that indicated the boy didn't know exactly what he would be doing – perhaps not even what he would be doing – and didn't care to drag a trunk with him for the journey. No Knightbus-ride to London and comfy room at the Cauldron then, Albus had surmised. What are you up to, dear boy?

Inquiries to Harry's friends, family and acquaintances had gotten them nowhere closer to finding the boy either – except to yield the additional three notes. The Order of the Phoenix members stationed at Privet Drive yielded even less, mostly irate and bored complaints from the assigned watchers. Oh, how Severus had raved at the next meeting about the value of his own time and the arrogance of James Potter's son in consuming it. Just how Harry's escape from Privet Drive was in any way arrogant, nobody was quite clear. Foolish perhaps yes, but arrogant?

The searching around the limited number of probable locations had been unrewarding as well – it didn't seem Harry had been anywhere near Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, the Burrow or Diagon Alley. Though it wasn't as if they were questioning every random person on the street; it wouldn't do to let slip to the public or the Ministry of Magic that Harry Potter was out on his own in the world, thoroughly unprotected.

Voldemort would have a field day if the news were to reach him, soon on the hunt.

The Prophet would use it to paint Harry as a renegade, a probable Dark wizard, once again and the Ministry would use it to discredit Albus himself – obviously lacking in his guardianship of the boy.

Harry didn't know, but then again Harry didn't care. Harry had life and death in mind, not public opinion.

'

It was a lazy Sunday evening at the Burrow. The heat of the day still lingered in the twilight, as the silhouettes of Ron, Ginny and the twins zipped around on brooms outside, working off their dinner with a simplified game of two-on-two Quidditch.

Bill let out a sigh of contentment as he leaned back in a rickety wooden chair, situated at the far left side of the Weasley family dinner table. The enormous meal he had just consumed rivaled even his brother Ron's appetite and left him feeling sluggish as his body diverted energy to processing the food. If there was one thing he had missed the most while on assignment down in Egypt it was his mother's home-made meals.

Oh, Bill knew it wasn't the healthiest food by a long shot but the long stints of eating nothing but what the health-obsessed cook stationed with his curse-breaking team whipped together had left him thoroughly convinced that most healthy foods tasted like ass. He'd dial it down to normal portions in a week or two.

He let his mind wander as he absently listened to his mum and dad telling each other about their days. They rattled on about how the ministry was working his father ragged over some new muggle-baiting fad he had to control – some sick bastard had actually started producing and distributing fake, touch-explosive muggle currency around metropolitan areas, leaving both Misuse of Muggle Artifacts and the Obliviatiors working double shifts until the spellwork could be deconstructed and the culprit traced. His mother complained that Ron and Ginny did nothing but play Quidditch all day instead of studying or helping out around the house, while the Twins were almost always locked away in their room, judging from the sounds coming through the walls experimenting quite dangerously with new magic.

Fred and George had told him about their ambitious plans for a joke shop to rival Zonko's and asked his advice on a number of potential items; he was impressed, though he knew their mother would be much less so and wondered where they got the gold for all those potions supplies. 'Oh, that's our little secret. Between us and our investor that is!' They'd told him, leaving him even more suspicious.

Bill couldn't help but compare his siblings to the focused powerhouse of a young man that was his new employer slash student. While technically a contractor employed by Gringott's, Bill couldn't help but feel his loyalty lay more with Marcus. Bill was no teacher, as the many fresh-out-of-school apprentice 'Breakers he'd been forced to somewhat mentor down in Egypt would heartily attest. They were idiots, most of them, obnoxious wannabe's with no real future in the business. Marcus, on the other hand, was a bloody inspiration to teach.

Coming home to the Burrow for dinner after having finished today's session with Marcus and greeting his siblings had been like stepping through a portal to completely different world. Marcus' concerns about a coming war lingered to a lesser degree in the gazes of his parents, but his siblings seemingly remained wholly unaware of the looming threat despite the fact that they – like Bill himself – had been present at the Death Eater attack on the World Cup final and that it was their friend Harry who had been abducted for and barely escaped with his life from Voldemort's resurrection ritual.

While Bill naturally didn't wish to tarnish his siblings' youth with the horrible realities of war, he sorely wished that they – like Marcus – had the foresight to be prepared. He couldn't bring himself to set them straight about their frolicking enjoyment of summer, but silently hoped this deficiency wouldn't cost them their lives.

Marcus was so very different. The boy had shown his dedication and work-ethic time and again over the last week, working himself to the bone in his training sessions and studies alike, whether faced with the transfigurative exercises meant to bring his poor magical control into shape or the obscurities involved in sensing out and manipulating enchantments and wards. The vast array of enchanted items Marcus somehow had in his possession had helped in that regard, acclimatizing his senses to the intent behind different types of enchantments.

That was where Marcus' true strength lay, in Bill's opinion. While the young man obviously held considerable power, demonstrated by the fact that he could spend entire days doing nothing but facing daunting magical exertions, Marcus held little obvious talent, save one. His poor control held him back from utilizing the vast power at his disposal effectively; his spells came out medium-powered at best and the success/failure rate of most exercises was abhorrent, even though he was steadily and impressively improving. Marcus would simply barrel through exercises time and again until trial and error granted him an understanding of the underlying magical theory, and then move on to whatever was next. Never resting, docile or unoccupied.

The way Marcus could utilize his magical senses, though, was a marvel to behold. After only a week of exercises, it was clearly evident that he was a natural. Bill thought back to the end of their session a couple of hours earlier…

'

Sweat was pouring of Harry in tiny rivulets as he stretched the influence of his magical core outwards once again, feeling out the newest ward Eliza had set for him. Bill observed from the sidelines, his hand and wand weaving continually through different diagnostic charms while Eliza smirked at Harry from within the ward.

'A tough nut to crack, then. Wait, was that a -? Oh, she's devious. Poor Marcus.'

"You won't get through this one, little man." Eliza taunted their student as she passively kept the combat-ward's power-rune filled to capacity. This only spurred their charge on, and Eliza knew it, goading him to try harder. If ever Harry reached a breaking-point, being reminded to view every exercise as a challenge would steel his mind, granting him the will to push through whatever barrier kept him back.

'Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that…' Bill thought to himself, as he detected the surge of magic that suddenly swept out of young Marcus. A few minutes later, their student had sensed out every bit of magic in the ward, every rune – both those actually carved and those inherently implied in Eliza's earlier casting – and though he didn't have an awful lot of runic knowledge yet, Harry's grasp on their intent was instinctual and impeccable.

While diagnostic charms were the primary method of feeling out a wardstructure for dangers and weaknesses, the draining aura-sensory technique Harry was using was much quicker and more reliable to a practiced and powerful Curse-breaker. Bill himself was quite proficient at the discipline, but to see a 17-year old – not yet out of school and certainly not well-versed in curse-breaking – utilize the magic with such brutal efficiency was almost beyond belief.

Bill saw Marcus mirror the Wardmasters smirk as he found the weakness in the ward's arithmetic and runic structure. With a shaking arm, Harry sliced a series of Norse-variant runes through the air with his holly wand firmly in his grip despite the obvious magical strain he was under and Eliza's smirk faltered into a look of astonishment.

BOOM! The force of the blast rocked the training room and pushed Harry back several steps, shielding his eyes from the storm of magical energies ripping free from the constraints of the wardstructure.

"Fuck!" Eliza's voice carried through the air as the magic and sound of the explosive ward-break settled and disappeared. She lay trembling on the floor over the inactive power-rune, her robes thoroughly scorched despite the last-minute shield she had been able to throw up. "Oh, you _idiot!_ How in the-You were _not_ supposed to do that!"

"What?" Harry questioned, confused and exhausted. "I found the weak-point and sliced it open, it's rather standard procedure for a quick de-warding. No need for stealth here, now is there? Slipping through a combat-ward unnoticed is pretty improbable."

"_I wasn't t__alking about stealth!_" Eliza hissed at him as she picked herself up from the ground and stomped over to their pupil for a good chest-poking, while Bill tried to hide his chuckles from the sidelines. "Stealth wasn't the point, knowing your _limit_ was the point! When you're outmatched you give up or face the consequences! That was the point!"

"How terrible of me to ruin your grand plan, Miss Eliza. I do apologize, oh so sincerely." Harry grinned back at the shouting girl, patting her on the head in mock-sympathy. "I guess we'll return to trying to find my limits next time, huh?"

Eliza's normally fair skin flushed at his teasing and she momentarily looked as if she would rip him a new one, but instead she finally slumped in defeat, trying to hide a small smile of her own. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up." She sighed tiredly. "I'm sorry; you did better than I expected and those expectations earned me a pummeling. Frustration got the best of me."

"No worries," Harry assured her with a tired sigh of his own. "Could've hurt you pretty badly with that break there, didn't really think things through."

Eliza snorted. "My own fault really, should've let the ward blow up in your face before you cracked it. But make no mistake; I'll get you back tomorrow."

"To hell with that, that was freakin' incredible Marcus!" Bill interjected. "I knew you were a natural, but that – that was something else! Most of what's left for you in 'Breaking is just expanding your knowledge-base and practicing like mad, you've already got a good grip on Aura-Sensory Technique and you obviously have the power to effectively use it without putting yourself in a coma."

"Yeah, well, I had a head start there. I've actually been getting a feel for magical objects for a while now; I just didn't know I was using a 'Breaking technique until you got fed up with my shoddy analysis charms and taught me the fun stuff." Harry chuckled as he flopped down into a sitting position, his legs a little shaky and his breathing heavy from the ruthless strain of the technique.

Eliza had thought Marcus wouldn't be able to break her Bunker Ward and in all fairness that was the likely outcome, considering the Bunker Ward was a powerful and complex combat-entrenchment ward.

It was meant to serve as a temporary reprieve in mid-combat, to regroup and tend to the wounded, and was designed to explode outwards when released or broken, momentarily overwhelming even shielded attackers to ensure those inside could gain the advantage and not be immediately barraged with spellfire. Harry's unconventional use of the Norse runes to bleed his intent into the primarily Egyptian-based wardstructure had turned that feature against its caster, forcing the ward to explode inwards instead. 'Crafty, crafty little Marcus.' Eliza thought with a smile. 'Redtop's approach during our exams was much more thorough, but damn it if Marcus' wasn't quicker.'

Marcus' steady and seemingly unthinking decimation of her lower-level ward-schemes had frustrated and excited Eliza in equal measure – though she would be hard-pressed to admit the latter, this- this _kid_ actually _challenged_ her – and so she had set a trap. She had been trying to teach him a lesson in restraint, forcing him to either admit defeat or foolishly unleash the wards powerful – but not deadly – kickback upon himself. It was a valuable lesson, as taking on a ward beyond ones capabilities could often have quite deadly results. There was a reason that 'Breaking was a well-paid line of work, after all – many had found their deaths in the tombs of Egypt and the like.

'But', the lithe raven-haired witch found herself thinking. 'I apparently underestimated Marcus quite handsomely.' For Marcus' instinctual grasp of runic magic and the intentions behind it was astounding, and the thought of his potential made a small shiver run down her spine.

'

'It's funny how life works, like that', Bill thought. 'that was practically a mirror-image of the end of our Mastery Exam.' The difference was that Eliza had been fortunate enough to draw up a shield this time. And Marcus hadn't needed to spend a week in the hospital being treated for magical exhaustion. The Aura-Sensory Technique was _really_ draining.

"I'd be glad to help out around the house in my off-time, mum." Bill spoke up amiably, noticing his parents were still on the topic of his siblings not being productive. "I'm available a couple of hours during the day because of my new assignment."

"Oh, thank you dear," His mother gushed, waddling over to hug him. "It's so good to have you home again. But what kind of job gives you hours off in the middle of the day, Bill? I thought you joined the administrative branch." Arthur's interest seemed peaked as well.

"OH, right. Um… I hadn't really thought to mention it, and I don't really know how much I can tell you," Bill begun uncertainly.

His parent's grew concerned and Arthur asked, "What's the matter, son? Is it – is it something to do with You-Know-Who? Are you on assignment for Dumbledore?"

"Oh, no, Merlin no. Nothing that dangerous, it's just that I'm on contract tutoring a very wealthy youngster – client of the bank – and we're held under non-disclosure oaths for… some reason I can't quite put my finger on." Bill hadn't really thought about it. Why had Marcus insisted on strict confidentiality? Why was his flat under a ward as impregnable – and bloody expensive – as the Fidelius? Was someone out to get him?

His parent's locked gazes for a moment then turned back to him.

"It's Harry, isn't it? Oh, the foolishness of that boy, running off from those horrible muggles without telling the Headmaster where he was going-" Molly started to rant. "Where is he? We need to make sure he's safe and get him situated back at Headquarters immediately and –"

"It's not Harry," Bill cut her off sharply, "And even if it was I wouldn't be able to tell you anything, but truth be told, my student is nothing like the Harry Potter I've met and heard about. They're both good kids, but M- Ma-" Bill hacked and coughed, overcome by the sensation of choking.

"Are you alright, son?" Arthur interjected, concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine. The Oath kicked in. Anyway, my client has a determination and fire about him that I've never once sensed from Harry and they look nothing alike. I think you should give Harry a break, in any case. As you say, his relatives are horrible; he shouldn't have been forced to stay there in the first place."

"Yes, but-"

Bill groaned. "Why are we arguing about this? It isn't going anywhere helpful. Just be glad Harry is still sending out notes to let us know he is okay, alright? Dumbledore confirmed they were from him, and not written under duress." How much his old Headmaster could tell from just the residual magic on the notes left Bill in awe.

"Mm, thank Merlin for small blessings-" His parent's relented, and the conversation turned much more pleasant as they discussed Bill's new job without worry for Harry overshadowing it. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley knew of Bill's earlier exploits in teaching and were surprised to learn he was enjoying himself, as well as being quite well compensated due to the erratic nature of his schedule. Bill expressed his appreciation for his student's determination and increasing skill, as well as his company, while his parents barraged him with questions, many of which he couldn't answer. No specifics, it seemed, not even that he was teaching Marcus Curse-Breaking, which seemed self-evident. 'Who was this young man?' Mr. and Mrs. Weasley wondered curiously.

Despite his assurances to his parents however, the seed of doubt had been planted. Bill had never heard the name Carver before in Wizarding Society and yet the kid talked as if he came from a reclusive pureblood line. Maybe the kid was a half-blood with a muggleborn for a dad, hence the confusion?

'Ah, whatever…' Bill brushed it from his mind. Marcus was making it easy and fun to make good money, he shouldn't complain. The main point was that the kid wasn't anything like Harry Potter.

'

_Morphosis_ was a thick and heavy tome bound in cracked and worn formerly black but now more greyish leather. It was more than a century old, written by a long-dead Transfiguration Master by name of Joshua Harkness, whose architectural brilliance could be witnessed even today among the wizarding societies of modern-day Great Britain, France and the United States. The architecture that had made him famous was ironically but mere profession, profitable ventures that funded his studies into his true passion and area of expertise – human self-transfiguration.

Written towards the end of his long, prosperous life, the book covered every possible facet of his passion in great and brilliantly explained detail and despite its obvious age and fragile look, Harry found that the tome didn't so much as creak when he first opened its cover.

As the structure in Harry's mindscape turned rather dull after the initial excitement of discovery, when he could make no headway at discerning its secrets, _Morphosis_ also turned into Harry's first side-project to his lessons with the Wardmaster and Master 'Breaker.

Every moment between physical exercises, lessons and sleep Harry poured over the masterpiece of a book. It detailed a great number of things of interest, from Magi transformations to curse-based transformations to complicated wanded spellwork, and it laid out the theory behind each section it in such a way that it made mind-warpingly intricate ideas somehow easily digested and made Harry wish he'd had the tome for the first four years of his Hogwarts education.

The book also held many disappointments for Harry, though that was less the books fault and more the fault of his genes and the impossibly cumbersome rules of magic itself. He had chosen to buy this particular book for two specific reasons, the first of which was to find a more permanent way of hiding his real identity.

Sure, the goblin-made Potter-enchanted bracelet was a life-saver. Endlessly useful and apparently very hard to detect, but it could easily be ripped off and by no means was it foolproof. Harry had a hard time imagining the bracelet would hold up against Moody's mad eye, specifically designed to see through illusions, much less wizards of the caliber of Dumbledore or Voldemort.

Charming the bracelet indestructible had occurred to him, but sadly charms laying claims to indestructibility were rather exaggerated and would also render the original glamour-enchantment inert. So, a sadly pointless endeavor. 'Besides', Harry thought, 'For an object dedicated to the goblin Deity of War, it's a bit on the fruity side design-wise…' He would endure, of course. The girly bracelet was far too useful to discard on the premise that it offended his fashion-sense.

Wanded self-transfiguration – now there was a useful subject! If you were looking to conceal an ugly birth-defect or perhaps fix it in conjunction with potions, or some other cosmetic change that wouldn't really matter if anyone were to detect and dispel. It was easily spotted by the experienced mage and much too easy to reverse to be worth spending time learning.

Metamorphmagic was the difficult art of wandless human-to-human transfiguration, almost impossible to detect and irreversible once detected except through magical depletion or mind control, it was something definitely well-worth mastering if one had the genetic advantage of being born with the ability. Not so easily discouraged, Harry had delved deeply into the signs of a developing Metamorphmagus, remembering his childhood instance of accidentally re-growing his own hair after a particularly dreadful haircut by his aunt. Sadly that instance of accidental magic was rather meek compared to the usual signs of rapid color-changing or haphazard shortening and lengthening of limbs; while Harry might possibly have had some small affinity for Metamorphmagic it would never be enough to be useful, particularly considering the grueling training it would've entailed.

Harry read through the Curse-based transformation as well, out of pure interest. While he was unsurprised to find nothing helpful towards his current interests there, he learned a great deal of history and theory behind the werewolf and vampire transformations as well as the other were-beasts, such as the werecats who only transformed if they looked up at the constellation of Orion on particularly cloudless nights – a bit of a failed curse, that one was – and the amusing but harmless wererats whose trigger was instead emotional, it's onset brought on by the infected individuals fear, transforming them into a strangely deformed rat with humanoid characteristics that quickly scurried to safety. Harry found himself chuckling at the idea that perhaps Peter Pettigrew was not an animagus after all, cowardly piece of filth that he was.

Having been thoroughly disappointed when it came to his first objective, Harry finally delved into learning everything he could about the second one. His father and the Marauders – well, save Remus, he supposed – had been Animagi; Harry himself felt it was a worthy path to follow in their footsteps.

It wasn't as if he was doing it out of pure nostalgia either, as both his godfather and the fucking rat had demonstrated amply so far having an animal form could be highly useful. Protection against Dementors, an easier escape, a deadly bite, hiding in plain sight or _flying without a broom _– even if the animagus transformation was rather easily countered by a competent wizard if the animagical was cornered, the possibilities were too many to ignore. Even were his form to be a common worm he could easily disappear from sight and burrow, vanishing without a trace.

This skill was definitely worth investing in; worth time, effort and – it would turn out – quite a bit of money. Best of all, this particular magic was open to all that had the determination to persevere and a good book on the subject. Harry felt quite confident he had sufficient perseverance and the best book of all.

Pushing away the fatigue brought on by his other training to the darkest, deepest recesses of his mind, Harry took to the books lessons and theory like a fish to water – and readily hoped that the discerning characteristic his transformation latched onto wasn't even remotely fish-like.

The meditative trances he was already indulging himself in were pointed to as a good way to truly get to know one's self, helping to determine and ease the next few stages towards initial transformation and the magical drills involved were not so very different to some of his other transfigurative and control-sharpening exercises.

He could do this. He would master this ability, like any other obstacle in his path.

It was _power_, ripe for the taking.

It was another step closer to freedom. Freedom from the threat of Voldemort and freedom from the manipulations of the likes of the Minister and his own esteemed Headmaster.

'

End Chapter 2

AN: Randomly inspired by cooking dinner, which felt odd. Still not promising this is going anywhere, but it's been fun writing so far. Thanks for all the reviews so far!

Constructive criticism is wanted, needed and awesome.

Pointers on story flow, characterization and dialogue are especially appreciated.

Please excuse any misspellings or grammatical mistakes, but don't be afraid to point them out.

Also, if I've accidentally written Harry when he's in the Marcus persona, or the opposite, do let me know so that I can fix it. I've been trying to describe him as Harry even when he is in the Marcus persona, because that is who he is, but then I get confused when it's Bill or Eliza actually thinking something about him.

Un-beta'd.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

AN: I kind of feel like I went out on some unexpected tangents here, but I'll just keep writing and see where it takes me.

'

After she observed one of Harry's dueling drills, the ones that he had alluded to doing during their first meeting, Eliza had insisted on getting involved. And that was all well and good, Harry had thought, except… Her first contribution had been strengthening the imbued Stinging Hexes from bee-sting to really fucking painful.

To motivate him, she said, but there had been a sadistic, playful gleam in her eyes that Harry didn't quite like. He suspected it was payback for imploding her Bunker Ward, but her addition had quickly proved as effective as promised.

Harry learned to push through the pain and keep going. This was the outside pain of an attacker, not merely the lactic acid of his own muscles protesting his labors.

Bill had gotten involved then as well, spelling the targets responsive to curse-fire and tying the enchantment to the Bludger spells on the tennis balls; deactivating the Stingers upon completion of the drill. Seeing Bill and Eliza fling about semi-permanent enchantments like it was kid's play, Harry was reminded that he still had a lot to learn.

Most of the time, his tutors just observed him. They would offer advice and give him pointers; they would criticize his every wrong move and stupid mistake. This was good, Harry knew, because one's own flaws were often those most difficult to distinguish. And so he improved. Each motion successively became more efficient, more refined. Spell flowed into spell and his posture molded itself towards the model of coiled defensive capability.

Other times Bill or Eliza joined in; dodging and weaving through Stingers as cursefire slammed into the wall with pin-point precision or standing off against Harry or each other for a good-fashioned Wizard's Duel. No holds barred, of course, as there was no such thing as cheating in combat.

Someone out to kill you was not likely to give you the courtesy of a formal bow before they split your head open.

And "being good is no excuse to get lazy", as Bill himself had put it. Bill took Harry through the most effective and versatile physical impact spells and curses, taking great care to improve his wandwork.

Eliza showed him some of the darker aspects of the magic of War. She taught him the importance of being realistic. The fact that a downed opponent is not done until dead or at the very least severely wounded can be a harsh lesson to learn, and how to analyze the situation and pick off one's opponents with ruthlessness even more so.

What would perhaps have made Harry queasy only a year ago, was now nothing more than a mild sensation of discomfort in the pit of his stomach. He had seen death, he knew it's face and it's unforgiving cruelty. He thought of Cedric Diggory, his parents and the countless nameless dead more often than he would've liked. He would not end up like that, and neither would his friends.

Steeljaw had chosen Harry's teachers well.

'

A chain of sequentially faster-moving spells leapt from his wand as Harry danced around Eliza, her wand flying furiously through defensive maneuvers as her glistening body swiveled to follow his movements.

The streaks of destructive energy converged on her from wildly different angles at the same time, with precision. That was a chain of his own making and he grinned victoriously.

He had her beat now, she trapped and struggling, a fish out of water and pinned to the dock.

'POP-CRACK!'

Unexpected. With a jolt of unmistakable _Stupefying_ feel Harry realized his mistake as he fell to the floor, unconscious.

"You alright there, Marcus?" Eliza sounded amused. "Honestly didn't really think you would fall for that."

"Oh, stuff it. Apparition is cheating." Harry ground out as his vision slowly became less fuzzy.

She snorted and poked him in the chest. "There _is_ no cheating, remember? If there aren't any wards up, you can apparate to your heart's content Marky!"

He was in no position to wipe that grin off her lips, but there was no mistaking that he wanted to. Eliza's slight blush at the idea that popped into her head was well hidden by the flush of exercise.

"No I can't, actually. I, er –" Harry sat up groggily and ran his hand through his hair with an embarrassed smile. " My uncle never really got around to it. Afraid I would splinch myself to bits and he'd be left all alone. Show me how, would you?"

Eliza looked at him, incredulous, which only served to make him more embarrassed. "Seriously? What has that goddamn uncle of yours been teaching you all these years?"

"The importance of being earnest?" Harry replied with his most charming smile. "Stop mocking and start teaching, tutor-woman." He received a half-hearted glare for his efforts.

"Name's still Eliza, funny man." She stared at him a moment longer, expecting an actual answer.

When none seemed forthcoming, she sighed and settled herself down on the floor next to him.

"Fine, be evasive." Eliza pouted, "It goes like this…" She proceeded to make him feel stupid – repeatedly – with advanced magical theorem about Apparition, while smiling innocently.

That part of her revenge was done, Eliza took him along for a couple of side-along jumps; short-range and long-range, so he could get a feel for it.

They got there eventually; as always Harry was more adept at the do or die approach. Eliza, keeping true to herself, seemed to enjoy torching him with fire-spells just a bit too much, mischievous grin in place.

Several severe burns, one minor splinching accident and a good dose of Miss Bane's not-so-tender healing mercies later Harry found himself deemed 'adequate'.

"Well, you're not legally allowed yet, obviously," Eliza told him, "You need a _license_. But that's really just a law to protect citizens from their own stupidity – the Ministry has no means to track or detect illegal apparition within the country, only when you cross the border wards."

Harry cracked a smile. Now _that_ could be useful.

'

This was technically Bill and Eliza's off-time, as one glace at the schedule they had set up on the first day would confirm. Evenings were strictly self-study - on paper anyway.

Luckily neither Bill, nor Eliza seemed to care much for the schedule after the first week. They would often hang around after the scheduled lessons were finished and help Harry with whatever drills he would otherwise have done solo or join him for dinner.

Bill had even crashed on the couch a couple of times, rather than apparate cross-country after a particularly exhausting day of training – Harry didn't have a floo set up, after all.

They were good company and Harry was surprised at how relaxed he had come to be in their presence in such a short time, and how accepting they seemed to be of him in return, despite his rather vague backstory.

Even though Harry had initially set out to do nothing more than train – all day, every day – it was actually good to be reminded of what he was training for, what he needed to protect.

His friendships, and his life outside of all this, were everything – all-important – and that made this seclusion worth it.

When Eliza tried to drag him off to see the Weird Sisters or Bill invited him over for dinner at the Burrow though, that was where Harry drew the line. Camaraderie felt good, but leisure wasn't anywhere on Harry's internal roadmap, and he had no idea how he would approach the rest of the Weasley's in his new persona.

'

"Four down, one to go. Again!" Bill shouted in excitement. He was really getting into this teaching thing, it seemed. Harry smiled as his body responded to the call.

Successively weaving from motion to motion, spell to spell a trio of brightly colored beams streaked towards the far wall as Harry twisted his torso and slid neatly between the two fuzzy balls coming at him from the front.

His senses were stretched out and he was tired, his aura seeping invisibly a couple of feet in every direction. This much was maintainable, but still draining. That was the point though; this was exercise, a 360 degree defense that vision just couldn't match. When he could perform well at this, his weakest, he would soon reach excellence when he was rested.

Or so Harry hoped.

Another 'Stinger' brushed against his senses behind him before veering off towards his leg.

Harry saw the Bludgeoning Hex and the Cutting Curse hit their marks well as he stepped over the tennis ball aimed at his shinbone, stopping two of the colored bull's-eyes in place and leaving a deep gouge and indentation in the wall, which immediately began to regenerate.

Harry had time to register the frosty blue streak of the more slow-moving Impaler barely glancing the side of the third target – which then kept moving – before he was promptly forced to duck under a duo of Stingers zooming in towards his unprotected back.

Twist, flick, semi-circle Holly swished through air as he whispered the incantation and two bursts of blood red shot sluggishly from his stooped position towards the 'downed' targets. Blood-boilers were magic-efficient killing machines, but so slow moving that you could only really catch an incapacitated or unsuspecting target. Dark Magic, to be sure, but not requiring the completely malicious intent of a Killing Curse.

Stingers moved in from both sides simultaneously. He was really tired now; physically, mentally and magically.

His duck quickly turned into a sloppy leaping roll forwards. He grunted slightly from the impact of his shoulder to the hardwood floor, but slashed his wand out mid-roll and dissected the last bull's-eye with another Cutting Curse as the tennis balls zoomed through his previous position before falling into inactivity.

Just in time. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the sound of clapping approached him.

'

"Bloody hell! Five times in a row without a freakin' scratch and not a single apparition either!" Bill shouted enthusiastically as he approached. "Wouldn't want to be them Death Eaters, eh?"

Eliza laughed down at him, offering her hand. "That was good Marcus, real good. Might want to work on that forwards roll, though. Looked _painful_." She pronounced the last word like it was a delicacy.

Harry chuckled as he gratefully accepted the hand and stood shakily.

"Thanks, yeah. My shoulder feels pretty stiff from the tumble." He frowned inwardly as he rubbed it. _'__Careless.__'_

"Grab a pain reliever and a Pepper-up, we'll up the ante a bit for next time, get some improvements operational." He groaned and she smiled, but he knew she was right. This was getting easy – and easy drills wouldn't force him to improve.

"You work some more on your agility Marcus, and you'll be unstoppable! I've got some other ideas as well, but you would've been dead in the water there if you hadn't picked off the last target when you did." Bill said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Don't get me wrong, I know you have me beat already – but we both know you can do better than _that_. Barely scratched the surface, we have."

Harry accepted the praise with a shrug and an abashed smile. "You don't need to tell me, mate; I _know_ dodging is the most basic and important part of dueling." His legs ached from the seemingly ever-present lactic acid as he slowly made his way over to the potions cabinet by the wall, pulling out three vials.

Bill nodded. "Be-all, end-all of not getting dead."

Chugging the nutrient blend first, Harry leant against the wall and turned to them with a grimace.

"Horrible stuff this, absolutely horrible." He swept the pain-reliever down in a single gulp, cringing once more as he looked them over. "So, what are these ideas for taking the drill to the next level?"

"How about adding a few targets and expanding their area of effect to the side walls?" Eliza proposed eagerly as Harry fought to keep his stomach from immediately rejecting its new contents. "That'd give us a wide angle battle simulation and a bit longer runs and -"

She stopped momentarily, looking like she just had a stroke of absolute brilliance. "- and I want some coffee, like _right now._ Either of you want anything?" She was already headed for the door.

"None for me thanks, wouldn't want it affecting the potions. Some water would be good though!" Harry replied.

"I'll take some coffee, thanks." Bill answered. "Dash of milk, no sugar."

As Harry gulped down the Pepper-Up potion and shuddered with disgust, he continued in exasperation, much to Bill's amusement, "You'd think I would get used to the taste eventually, wouldn't you? But they seem to get a different kind of awful every time. Yuck."

"Mm, functional and tasty rarely seems to go hand in hand when it comes to Potions – but about the Dueling practice: with a couple of days work we could probably incorporate stunners shooting out of the bull's-eyes as well. That would make shielding and conjuring more viable defensive maneuvers. The power-leeching enchantments on the walls should be able to cover it, as long as we keep feeding them spells."

"Sounds good. It would simulate moving, retaliating opponents pretty well." Harry said as his breathing slowly returned to normal, his heartbeat no longer pounding in his ears. "I hadn't really considered expanding the charms either, but yeah. Confining the targets to the far wall just makes it too easy to pick them off with one properly aimed spell-chain, I reckon. Not as if they can shield themselves, now can they?"

Bill contemplated the idea, before waving it off.

"I really appreciate your help with this, mate." Harry said sincerely.

"Oh no problem, no problem at all. It's odd, you know – It was never this much fun, having apprentices around back in Egypt." Bill sunk into the armchair he'd floated in from the living room before with a contented sigh. "But you're coming around nicely, mate, and besides; half-measures aren't my style and they're definitely not Eliza's either."

"We'll whip you into top-notch shape, don't you worry." Eliza grinned as she returned and handed them their beverages.

"So, should we get to work? I'll show you what to do, Marcus."

"Hey there slave driver, let me catch my breath for a second!" Harry protested playfully. "Actually – I've got this side-project I wanted to talk to you about."

Eliza spun on her heel to face him again, intrigued. "Really? Is this what you've been muttering under your breath about for the past week?"

Harry blushed slightly. "Eh? I was?"

"You were." Bill confirmed with a grin. "So, what's up?"

"I, eh, I've been considering the Animagus transformation. There are some… unconventional approaches out there, that speed up the transition quite a bit, but –", Harry hesitated, "It's, shall we say, frowned upon by the Ministry. About 3-years-in-Azkaban frowned upon."

Harry leant forward, observing them carefully. Bill seemed wary but still open to what he had to say, while Eliza just grinned savagely.

"Little Marcus, branching into Blood Magic? Naughty you." She chuckled and Bill paled. "I'm so proud. The Native-American approach, right?"

"Right," He confirmed, ignoring her barbs. "They invented the transformation, after all, back in the olden days. European wizards refined it, as they say, but they also complicated it and lessened the magical link. After some negotiating and throwing a bit of gold around I managed to get in touch with a Chief in Peru through the local Gringott's branch. Or Steeljaw did, on my behalf."

"Those goblins do love taking your money." Bill smiled thinly, his color slowly returning. "Seriously, have you seen our tutoring fees?"

Harry waved him off. "Not important, I have plenty of money left and you two are well worth it. Anyway, a batch of their version of the Animagus potion and an authentic talisman is on its way here as we speak. Steeljaw is positive that they can get it through customs, but not sure about when. I could use the two of you to help overseeing the rituals, watch for errors, especially the final one – there's plenty of potential for a fuck-up here, but the payoff is worth the risk."

"I could help you with the prep-work." Eliza spoke up. "Durmstrang covered rudimentary blood rituals and I've done some work myself, but I suppose you know that you will have to do most of it on your own?"

Rituals were delicate things, still not fully understood even after so many centuries. Perhaps the understanding had been lost to time, when the laws tightened their stranglehold on that brand of magic. All required sacrifice though – and part of that sacrifice was doing the hard, gruesome work yourself – and enduring.

"Yeah, I've already got the rune-grids mapped out, adapted to my magic as best I could." Harry pulled a stack of parchment out from his expanded suitcase, riddled with runes of different American origins. "If you could look it over, I'd be thankful. A second set of eyes never hurts." He stacked _Blood, Magic and the Old Gods_ and _Morphosis_ next to it.

"Not really my area of expertise, but these look solid." Bill said, skimming over the runic charts before passing them onwards to Eliza. His eyes landed on _Blood, Magic and the Old Gods_. "Wait, what? You've got a bloody _Ravenclaw-_book? On _Blood Magic_?!"

Eliza perked up with obvious interest as well, but Harry just shrugged.

"It's not like Rowena wrote it, now is it? Cost a pretty penny, but it was worth it – Trenton obviously inherited Rowena's intellect. And you've got to consider that this was written long before Blood Magic was demonized by the crimes of the few and subsequently banned from the British Isles. It's a comprehensive piece of work; I had no idea of all the possible applications -"

"Even if it isn't one of Rowena's own works, you obviously have no idea of how rare the works of the founding bloodlines are nowadays. Most has been lost to the ravages of time." Eliza contradicted him, eyes aglow with the possibilities. "Their 'official' opinions still have a lot of pull even now, long after they died out. To find one for sale is a bloody miracle and to find one that deals with Blood Magic might actually help reverse the backwards ideals Britain has been steering towards over the last century."

"Hang on." Bill interrupted, "Would we want to do that? Blood Magic was banned because it's too easy to abuse, just like the Unforgivables. Sure it has lots of other applications, but the potential to go overboard and shed your very humanity is staggering." He turned to Marcus with a solemn look on his face. "I hope you've thought this through, Marcus."

"Relax, relax guys." Harry tried to calm them. "I have no plans on trying to make this a political thing. Bill is right, the current laws might be too restrictive but we wouldn't want half the things Blood Magic can be used for made legal. As long as I can sneak my supplies through customs and do this without getting caught the current laws favor the Light when it comes to war. Besides, the Ministry wouldn't take an attempt to change the popular view lying down. You've seen how they've wielded the press against Dumbledore and the Potter kid so far – and that's just for trying to warn them – it's not too much of a stretch to think they would actually get violent if we started messing with their idiotic legal system."

"Yes, but we could –", Eliza almost pleaded.

"No. None of us have the political clout to take action on this." Harry said with an air of finality, though he knew it wasn't quite true. Lordship and celebrity was plenty of clout. "Even if we did, stirring up that debate now would doubtlessly create loopholes the size of London for actual Dark wizards to abuse. New laws quite often turn out to be crappy laws in need of revision before becoming good laws, yeah?"

"Yeah, I- I suppose you're right." She conceded.

"And Bill; the Animagus rituals don't really alter the performer much, they're designed to unleash potential and bond one's spirit to the totem animal, nothing more; so don't worry about it, alright?"

At Bill's nod, Harry continued. "Now, where would I go about procuring a decent ritual dagger, d'you think?"

Bill glanced at Eliza, who nodded and said, "Well, down Knockturn I suppose, but that's obvious. They aren't even _really_ illegal, it's the practice of Blood Rituals that's illegal – the knives themselves are actually considered collectibles by some sorts, would you believe it?"

"I expect you could pick one up at Borgin & Burkes." Bill added, slight disgust in his voice, "Got to say though, I didn't think I'd _ever_ be recommending that shop to anyone."

'

Albus Dumbledore was troubled as he straightened his ceremonial Chief Warlock robes and gave himself a long, hard look in his office mirror. This was not solely because the Wizengamot robes were incredibly drab and dull – dark maroon with a modest silver lining and embroidery of the Wizengamot crest on its back and left breast pocket. No swirling symbols or bright cheery colors at all, to the Leader of the Light's eternal disappointment.

But no, his sour mood was because the hunt for Harry Potter was going absolutely nowhere and only Albus – and to a lesser extent his Potions Master – knew how very paramount the boy's safety really was.

The poor child had yet to be sighted and owls seemingly refused to find him, regardless of whether tracking charms had been applied. No simple anti-tracking wards, no, something more complex – or perhaps more sinister.

As further evidence of this even the highly capable Fawkes had only crooned a sad negative and tucked his head under his wing in shame when asked if he could find the young lad.

For Harry to be so very well hidden… Harry was, of course, highly capable for a soon-to-be fifth year, but Albus knew the boy had to have help. Or perhaps he had been captured already?

Perish the thought; Severus would have reported it immediately, even despite silly childhood rivalries – or Harry would surely have turned up dead.

Another glance in the mirror, Albus looked himself in the eye and sighed his disappointment before reaching for the Floo powder.

Harry had escaped them all. That he'd even felt the need to do so left a taste of disgrace in Albus' mouth. He had failed the boy; of that much he was certain.

'

Albus Dumbledore strode into the Wizengamot main chambers just as the gigantic enchanted parchment on the far wall began seeking out the magical signatures in the room, scrolling through the hundred-or-so names of the surviving Old Family Lords, checking attendance and eligibility.

Polyjuice or Imperius would get you nowhere in this place of power.

Albus let his magic run free from its normally tight coil, radiating his formidable power as he made his way through the tiered semi-circularly arranged seats of the Lords to the podium at the back of the hall, greeting Lords and shaking hands as he went.

In the box of seats behind the podium, for advisors to the Chief, he could see Amelia Bones and Amos Diggory already there and he was sure that Minister Fudge and his detestable Undersecretary would soon arrive as well.

The latter two had no real place in this hall and no vote, but Albus hoped that in keeping them as advisors he could mitigate their suspicion that he himself and the elusive Mr. Potter were trying to undermine their government with 'these preposterous and false allegations' of the return of the Dark Lord. They were a necessary and lesser evil.

It seemed his efforts at placating them were futile though, as Lords Parkinson and Malfoy were continually feeding the Minister's worries with dark whispers of his treason – and gold in Cornelius' pocket, no doubt.

"Amelia, Amos – good to see you both again." Albus greeted his foremost advisors. Lord Diggory looked haggard, dark circles marring the area under his eyes as if he hadn't slept for weeks. Perhaps that was the case; the man had taken the death of his son hard.

As their gazes met, Albus thought he saw cold hatred simmering in those icy blue eyes of a brief second. The next moment Amos smiled politely, eyes friendly, leaving the impression that perhaps it had been a figment of his admittedly over-active imagination.

"Good to see you as well, Headmaster." Amos greeted back, "Under better circumstances, this time."

Albus nodded his agreement and turned to shake the strong hand of Madame Bones. The three of them briefly discussed the more controversial policies up for vote; the Ministry's office attempting to seize more power over Hogwarts, the stricter laws against Half-breeds that the supremacists would want pushed through, backed by the squat and toad-like form of Madame Umbridge.

How that woman rose to her seat of power was a mystery to Albus, her manipulations continually obvious and disruptive, though rarely proven. There was seemingly a scapegoat to be had around every bend of Diagon these days.

The meeting-time at hand, Albus turned to the assembled Lords, whose murmuring conversation flowed throughout the room. Cornelius and Dolores had just arrived, shuffling towards the box with chests puffed out and heads held high.

The session was ready to begin.

With a sharp rap of his gavel in conjunction with a flare of his overbearing magical presence, the Hall quieted and turned their attention towards the podium. Albus smiled serenely.

The other Lords knew his power already, of course, but a reminder was never out of place in these troubled times. It could make a the Head of dark family hesitant to show their true colors and make those on the brink think twice before they took the easy path instead of the righteous one.

The colors in this chamber were indeed not black and white, but oh-so-many shades of grey – both light and darkness in every heart, though Albus preferred to appeal to the former and see past the latter.

In the tradition of the old ways power was both feared and revered, and _here_ in the true political center of the Wizarding world, Albus was the center of it all – both political and magical… No matter what the Ministry of Magic would have you believe.

"Welcome Lords and Ladies," Albus greeted through amplified vocal chords, "to the Grand Fall Session of the Wizengamot. We have much on our itinerary today, so we best get started if we are to be done before the week's end."

A muted rumbling of polite chuckles follow, but was abruptly cut of by a collective gasp.

His eyes searching the Hall in confusion, Albus followed their gazes to the enchanted parchment on the wall behind him. It was not hard to spot the object of their surprise.

_Lord Harry James Potter: absent _the blood red ink scrawled itself across the giant parchment.

'Bu- How..?' Albus' eyes widened imperceptibly as his mind raced. Harry had claimed his birthright and was therefore emancipated. This was not good, not good at all. Even the Ministry could barely track him now… 'The goblins_ – of_ _course_! Gringott's had the Ring!'

The boy was not supposed to get dragged into politics this early in the game. It would expose him to too many external influences – elements like the neutral families or the Unspeakables – it would give him too much freedom, would undoubtedly cause him to stray from the right path.

It was far too easy to choose the wrong ally, far too easy to stray into the Dark Magicks, as Albus himself knew all too well. _For the Greater Good._

The board had been set, the strategy planned; why would Harry ruin it all?

'_He doesn't know,'_ That treacherous part of his mind whispered harshly, '_you never told him…'_

The Lords' murmuring increased in volume around the Chief Warlock.

One shrill voice broke through the clamor of the Lords, "That _boy –"_ Madame Umbrigde shrieked,"That _lying, deceitful boy_ – a Lord? _This is ludicrous!_What trickery is this, Dumbledore?_"_

"The boy is barely fifteen, Albus!" Fudge chimed in, face flushing rapidly, "How do you explain this – this insult to our hallowed institution?"

The Hall quieted a touch, awaiting his reply.

"I do not know the specifics, Cornelius." Albus spoke softly, though his voice reached every ear. "But it seems Lord Potter has invoked the End-of-Line Clause. It is well within his right to do so, and I had no hand in it."

"That's absurd, _Headmaster_!" Umbridge spat the title like an insult, "No delusional fifteen year old will be allowed to influence the laws and judgments of this honored body! You will not undermine the authority of the Minister and the Wizengamot with this silliness!"

Albus' eyes settled calmly on the Under-Secretary. "Madame Umbridge, I –"

"_We will not have it!" _She shrieked and stomped her foot, many members giving her looks of distaste. This was _not_ the way of the Wizengamot.

"You are here on my leave, Madame; remember this. _You _are not allowed a place in our hall, other than as an advisor to the Chief Warlock." If looks could kill, Albus was sure his heart would be very still indeed.

"How, pray tell," The Lord Malfoy interrupted, "are you not privy to the specifics of Lord Potter's ascendance, Chief Warlock?" Lucius' voice carried across the room, deadly and silken all at once. "Are you not the _esteemed _leader of this body? Are you not also the boy's magical _guardian_?"

It was not a well-known fact – that was evident by the revitalized pandemonium – and the tension was thick in the air as Albus sighed deeply, resigned to admit his failure aloud.

"I have not known the goings-on or whereabouts of Lord Potter for several weeks now, Lord Malfoy."

"Run away somewhere on his own, his magic untracked?" The smile in Lucius' voice could be heard. "My, Lord Potter is quite the renegade…"

The Hall was alive with whispering about the Potter Lord for well over an hour after that, even after they had proceeded with the actual agenda.

'The Prophet was right all along then! The boy is nothing but a _Dark_ _Wizard_!'

'The Boy-Who-Lived is _missing_. What is Dumbledore playing at? How do you _lose_ a teenager?'

'Is the Chief Warlock insane_?_ We need find the lad for Merlin's sake!'

Where some saw a Dark Lord on the rise, a select few saw a threat to their government and others still a hero in distress.

At least one saw a golden opportunity to regain some favor from his Lord, and Albus Dumbledore saw his own failings playing out into a waking nightmare.

Regardless, the question on everyone's mind was suddenly _'Where is Harry Potter?'_

'

She stuck around longer and longer these days, sometimes long after William had left. She chastised herself endlessly for it; there was so much else she should be doing, but this… He was something else.

She examined him from afar, watched that ferocious intensity he applied to both his research and his training. It was hypnotizing. Every rune scratched and wand-scribed over and over until it was done with excellence and meticulous accuracy, each drop of sweat a medal of commitment.

He would watch her too, sometimes; that entranced look of contemplation on his face when he thought she wasn't looking, it spurred her on. Dodge, weave, parry; her body spun with grace through objects and stunners alike in their enhanced training room. It had truly come to belong to all three of them now, with the amount of time and sweat they had invested there. The magic here was a part of them.

They laughed, they ate and they smiled; they worked and they fought. They pushed each other beyond the point of exhaustion. Still he stood up – always once more – and waved her to continue, infuriating grin slowly driving her to madness. This wasn't right; she would narrow her eyes at him and huff, he would not falter.

She would correct his technique with a smirk. A shiver would run up her spine as his eyes burned into her own, before he applied her words to perfection. He would give her his undivided focus, pound every shield into wild magic, brush her attacks aside. She felt herself flush, her wandwork become messy and she was defeated once more. What was it about him that affected her so?

He flickered at the edge of her senses, evasive and hidden. He was not what he seemed, and yet there was no deception in his eyes or in his voice. He was true, to her and Bill as well as to himself.

'

It was his birthday, but that matter little. The way he grew up, his attachment to the day was negligible, and it was a training day like any other. He wouldn't tell the others, of course.

The sun shone lazily through the kitchen window, the smell of bacon and eggs hanging heavy in the air, amplifying Eliza's hunger as Marcus fried up some breakfast.

"Well, you're here early." Marcus sounded amused, his hair wet from the shower and his eyes alert from his morning run. "You look… _pretty_ this morning."

"Mm, mornin'." Eliza narrowed her eyes at him as she slouched into a seat at the kitchen table. "Gimme some coffee." She ordered, forcing a half-hearted glare instead of a smile.

She hadn't looked in a mirror, but she could feel her hair in a tangled mess on her head, knew her eyes were bleary from sleep, yet she was far from self-conscious. Her neck ached from the couch however, having forgotten cushioning charms.

"I noticed you passed out on the sofa last night." Marcus smirked as he slid a cup of java across the table. He didn't touch the stuff, of course; drank _tea_ like a proper British bloke.

She huffed. "Yeah, after you got lucky that last duel I was messed up, could barely drag myself to the couch to be honest. While _you_ hogged the shower I might add."

A quick _scourgify _after she woke up had taken care of that, but it didn't give the satisfaction of a proper wash.

"You _do_ know there is another shower in my room, right?"

"I, well yes, but I didn't want to intrude." She flushed in embarrassment; she'd been so drained, she hadn't even considered it. The Pepper-up could only do so much.

"Oh, come off it, you practically live here." He sank down in the seat across from her, digging into his breakfast with gusto. She let the smile surface as he focused on his meal.

_Tap, tap, tap! _Marcus flew out of the room before Eliza could react, his breakfast forgotten.

She could hear Bill's voice in the hall, the two greeting amiably, and their voices slowly crept closer.

"Oh this awesome." When Marcus returned a minute later, it was with a broad grin and a large box. Eliza easily connected the dots. She imagined the goblins must've smuggled it across borders themselves; any owl would've run itself ragged, even just delivering it from Gringott's – the only place that seemed to send Marcus mail.

"My shipment of _spices_ from Peru has arrived." Marcus radiated excitement as he popped open the top. His hand snatched out a vial of brownish potion with purplish streaks and the consistency of cream, turning it and inspecting the liquid closely.

She glanced at him, amused. "Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

"Looking at a potion." He grinned. "A bloody good potion, probably. Hopefully. I can't tell." He admitted, but it didn't matter now. The potion compared well to every description and he had been preparing for this for too long to back out now. It was time to do the deed.

"That sounds promising…" Bill muttered, glancing over Marcus' shoulder vial. "But it's not like we could get it authenticated by a Potions Master."

Eliza shrugged. "Fair enough." She pulled out two other objects and examined them; first, an ancient-looking stone bowl riddled with runes, heavy but apparently untouched by magic. The second object was parchment, a scroll with chicken scratch writing riddling it top to bottom, signed _Chieftain Beruma_. "Got a letter for you, here. The lettering is shifty, probably charmed for you."

Marcus' left hand snatched the last object from the box, quickly but softly. "I'm much more interested in _this_… But I'll give that a read later." It was a macabre sinewy necklace made of tendons, skin and bone baptized in blood. It radiated subtle magic, not exactly human, but not hostile in purpose. The object seemed to curl around his fist like a snake, latching on to his magic and suckling it like a newborn babe.

He fastened it around his neck and the talisman clung to his skin like a wet shirt, again winding a snake-like pattern across his back, shoulders and chest; red-stained bone of some predator's tooth settling in the center of his chest underneath his white tank top.

It felt like home, Harry decided, reaching out to pluck the letter from Eliza as well. She didn't let go.

"You're staring, Miss Bane. Eyes up here."

She shook herself and gave him the parchment. "Sorry, it's just… Wow, there is some weird magic in that talisman. Almost like bloodwards, but different. Soaked in potions too, I think, though I can't tell what. Layer upon layer."

"I wonder what exactly it does –" Bill hummed softly in agreement, reaching out to touch it.

"I wouldn't do that." Marcus' comment stopped Bill's hand mid-motion. "It feels… Protective. Like a coiled snake or a nesting bird."

Harry read over the formal, if rather hacky, script of the letter. As Eliza predicted, Harry had no trouble understanding the script. Though English was clearly not Chieftain Beruma's first language, he made an excellent effort. From what Harry had read, the Native American sorcerers lived in hidden villages, isolated and so comfortable behind their heavy wards that they scarcely saw wizards and witches from other villages – never mind Goblins, muggles and 'modern' magicals. There was no reason the Chieftain should even speak English at all.

"Looks like you're right," Harry confirmed, "It's been enchanted and soaked in power for generations, used in countless rituals, Chieftain Beruma writes; an heirloom of sorts. He would like it returned upon the completion of my trial. No idea what that means – I suppose once I transform?"

"Let's not keep him waiting overlong then," Eliza grinned, Marcus' excitement rubbing off on her. She grabbed the vial and made for the training room, Bill stepping to follow.

"Oi! Breakfast!" Harry hollered after them in amusement.

"Oh, right –"

'

In a decrepit-looking manor house in Little Hangleton, knelt a man in black robes, silvery skull-mask in place on his face, though his telltale platinum blond hair curtained around it. He was inner circle and proud, pure of blood and strong in magic. The monstrosity of a wizard to which he deferred eclipsed him in all those aspects. Lord Voldemort was of Slytherin's blood and his power was unprecedented.

To return from the dead… _To conquer that barrier –_

"My lord, I have news." His voice did not waver.

"Stand then Lucius, and speak," The Dark Lord hissed the command, his name open as they were alone, "And hope dearly that it is pleasing."

The Dark Lord had not forgotten how he forsook him, nor his blunder with the Diary. Lucius did not think he could've foreseen a mere boy slaying Slytherin's Monster, but to speak it would be unwise. To think it even, in His presence, was too great a risk.

"The Potter brat is missing, my lord." Red slit eyes lit with slightly more malice. "The fool Dumbledore has lost him."

"How do you know this?"

"He has taken up his heritage. Lord Potter was noted as absent at the Wizengamot just an hour ago – I came as quickly as I could."

The Dark Lord was pleased, the lipless smile disconcerting. "He is in hiding from not just us then, but Dumbledore as well. Perhaps the boy is not such a fool after all." He mused. "If only he was not such a stubborn child… But no matter."

"How do you wish to proceed, my lord?" Lord Malfoy had hesitated, but he was eager; the boy had humiliated him and caused him to lose favor with his master. Harry Potter would suffer – and preferably die – by Lucius' own hand.

"It is high time we took action…" The hiss was barely above a whisper. "I was recently made aware of a –", That lipless smile showed pointy teeth, "a connection of sorts, caused by that damnable night 14 long years ago, that cost us so much time, Lucius. I shall make the boy grieve every moment he sleeps, while you… You shall lead the efforts in flushing him out."

"How?" Excitement in his voice, his chance at hand.

"Strike at muggles and lone wizards, appeal to his conscience, but give no clue of who we are to the Ministry. Make the attacks seem haphazard and disorganized. The boy will know, I'll make sure of it. Be quick and silent, and do not wear the mask – an illusion should suffice to cover your identities. We shall send the message that innocents die and agonize while he stands silent and inactive, but we must not alert the fool Fudge… Not yet. Do not engage the Order or the Aurors for long, unless you can catch them alone and with stealth."

"It will be done, my lord." Lucius bowed deeply, backing out of his master's chambers.

Lord Voldemort turned back to the flickering hearth, contemplating what other objectives could be accomplished under the cover of this ruse. It would keep the old man busy, his eyes elsewhere…

"See that it is… Capture the boy alive if he appears. And do not fail me again." The soft threatening hiss travelled effortlessly through the thick wood of the door, startling Lucius in his departure.

The Dark Lord knew all, and Lucius would do well not to disobey him.

'

AN2: Been on holiday in the States and didn't get much writing done over there, but some on the excruciatingly long flights. Next chapter being written at the moment.

Tell me how you like where this is going. My romance-hinting freaking you out? Lack of substance?

As always constructive criticism is wanted, needed and awesome.

Pointers on story flow, characterization and dialogue are especially appreciated.

Please excuse any misspellings or grammatical mistakes, but don't be afraid to point them out.

Unbeta'd.


	4. Chapter 4

Achieving Greatness - Chapter 4

AN: "Riddle only realized the connection when Harry was in his mind while Riddle looked into the

mirror sometime after the snake attack on Mr. Weasley. He did not know about it in the summer."

While this anonymous reviewer is most probably correct and I am thankful for the pointer, my AU timeline diverges from canon in that respect and will probably do so in many others.

'

"_You killed me, Harry!" Cedric's ashen face accused him from all sides, blood that hadn't been there running down his throat now, slit. The sound of it was a dying garbled mess of blood, but the message hit him like a ton of bricks. The Graveyard swirled around them, black-robed wraiths rushing in from all sides._

"_You're the one that murdered us all!" His mother spat at him, suddenly at his side, her impossibly sharp fingernails digging deep wounds into his shoulder. "I should've left you to die that night, hid and cowered with the likes of you."_

_His screams of protest made no sound, his defense impotent in this place. Surrounded and defenseless, knife upon knife hitting right between the shoulder blades – the betrayal felt so very _real, _though he somehow knew it was not__, and__ his reactions were instinctual__, his torment very real indeed__._

"_You'll get them all killed in the end, you pathetic worm!" His father's harsh features sneered at him in disgust, and Harry Potter flew to the ground as he was backhanded callously across the face. "Like you did us. Like you did him. Only trying to save yourself –"_

"_Like the rat that you are –" Cedric continued, standing now, tall and menacing, hate warping and marring his once-handsome features more than the slit throat ever could._

"_No better than that bastard Pettigrew!" Lily Potter ripped forwards once more, landing an impossible strong kick, shattering his ribs._

_As Harry Potter struggled to breathe, he coughed up blood. He lay dying for eternity, dying and ending, among the blows and abuse._

_His world was a gallery of hate, and a crowd was gathered, all so carefully gathered to rip the main exhibit to shreds._

His nights were plagued by their screams and accusations, endless and forever. His friends lay dead at his feet, each one cut down to get to him, because he hid like a coward. Because he was a weak little boy. And then they rose, and then he truly was a weak little boy, as they flayed the flesh from his bones.

'

A multitude of researched runes, finely scribed charts and intense study of what was known of the old magical Inkan rituals, all that preparation had led up to this. The first great leap.

He would cement today as a momentous occasion in his brief existence through the shedding of blood, sweat and tears. _'Cry me a river..?' _His mind supplied, and he chuckled. Something like that. Self-pity was beneath him and he pushed it away.

Eliza had helped him set it all up, and now here he was; the older girl watching at the edge of his senses now, as she was want to do. Bill had strangely opted out of attending, saying that while he respected Marcus' right to make his own decisions; he wouldn't be a part of any blood magic rituals… Harry could accept that, but he _would not _falter because of it.

His instincts told him that this was _right. _This was the moment of truth, he supposed. If he failed here and could not break the mold of '_normal' _Harry Potter that he himself had so idealized… Then he was a failure through and through, not fit to fight in any war, not fit to shoulder the responsibilities that were nevertheless upon his shoulders.

This was _not_ an exercise.

Naked as the day he was born, Harry sat in as close an approximation of the lotus position as he could manage, his back towards the door. Eliza would've been inclined to mock him, if not for the seriousness of the situation.

Around him the runic grid sparked slightly with the sustained infusion of his magic as he carved another Mayan rune into his forearm. Intense look of concentration had settled onto his face, his countenance only occasionally twitching as the agony became almost unbearable. His dark-crimson lifeblood was seeping into the symbol-covered bowl in front of him, bathing both it and the talisman in the essence of _him_ – old and fickle magic, whispering to forgotten gods.

'Breathe in, breathe out. Feel the burn.' The pain was excruciating, but he was stone. He would not break or crumble, most definitely not admit defeat. In the face of just a little pain, he would never fall. 'Pain is weakness leaving the body…'

The magic felt like war and fangs, scorching fires and rushing wind – disturbing, yet oddly comforting.

The intricate ritual dagger of carved bone was razor-sharp and moved deftly into the next set of runes, on his upper left arm. He leant forwards to allow the freshly spilled rivulets to flow into the bowl as well. His lifeblood seeped already from the runes on his legs and his right arm, soon only the problematic parts would be left.

With a quiet hum of pain he rounded of the third Egyptian control-rune that curved out around his left shoulder. He had unfortunately not been able to unearth a Mayan or Inkan equivalent, and the Peruvians seemed uneasy about relinquishing the entirety of their knowledge. Some truths should be made from the self, not gotten from others.

Though he wanted to stay true to that ancient, original ritual… Egyptian would work just as well, Harry told himself; it is the intent in the shape that forms the magic. Slowly, trembling, he repositioned himself appropriately by the bowl and reaching behind him, his tattered skin felt like it would shred completely any second now, but he endured.

One large and uneven rune of complex design that Chieftain Beruma had been willing to send in the letter was carved slowly and with difficulty in the center of his back. Symmetry was hard to achieve, but this was endlessly harder. This shape was unknown, but the Peruvian had seemed insistent and it was strangely familiar to Harry – something on the edge of memory – though not so to the others.

Several times he thought he would twitch or slip, all his agonizing work ruined and his life quite possibly forfeit, but he bore through it.

He felt cold now, the warmth quickly leaving his body as he closed his eyes and softly sliced the simple patterns into his eyelids before moving on to the circular-shaped binding rune around his navel. The wild magic of the ritual strained and thrashed against his will, eager to break free.

Plasmatic tears flowed softly down his cheeks, mirroring his pain with a macabre display of sadness.

He disentangled his legs, kneeling as if in reverence before the bowl, murmuring soft phrases of badly pronounced Native American words he barely knew the meaning of.

He knew their purpose, their _true_ meaning; and intent was enough. Even through his throbbing lids, he could see the whole runic circle light up with his power, and right ahead of him was the bowl with the talisman.

It roared with his magic like a miniature sun, blinding and deafening and beautiful.

He grasped it and it grasped him. The brightness swallowed him up and consumed him, while he drank it eagerly, swept up in the torrent of repeated ancient history.

And he was no more.

'

It was a small, well-kept manor in the countryside, modest for such a large house, with white brickwork and muted black tiling.

Ivy crawled the height of its northern short-side wall, partially covering even the large windows, and its gardens were filled to the brim with various flowers both magical and mundane, some in bloom, while others were not.

Forcing such beauty took half of the enjoyment away, Lord and Lady Greengrass agreed, and had therefore instructed their Garden-Elf Tipsy to let them blossom in their own time.

Lord Greengrass held much the same opinion about his two daughters, Daphne and Astoria, whom he loved dearly however infrequently he had the time to show it. They were the apples of his eye, as it were, and death meet whoever tried to take them from him.

Death was no stranger to Nathaniel Greengrass, no they had tangoed before.

International procurement and sales of potions ingredients was a nasty business, the competition fierce and riddled with backstabbing and treachery. Sometimes the literal kind, with a very sharp knife. Nathaniel was a hands-on type of businessman.

The trade had made and kept the Greengrass family wealthy for generations, since Meridea Black legally changed her name back in the 1600s and was granted Ladyship of her own for her obscenely generous contributions to the founding of the Ministry of Magic.

Poisonings and stabbings had not gotten any less frequent since the time of Meridea Black – there were still so many lawless places in this world were things of value lay in wait. A fourth of Europe was without Ministries, governed only and poorly by the International Confederation of Wizards and their "guidelines"; and Europe was best off, save North America, so that was saying something indeed.

This is why not being able to kill Lucius Malfoy felt like a stab-wound through the heart. Oh, he could do it, certainly. The man was formidable, but much too sure of himself. But he would be caught – and normally that would be fine, anything for Daphne after all – but in dealing with Lucius… The rest of the Dark was a package deal.

If Malfoy was struck down with any indication of Greengrass' involvement, all their heads would roll. His lovely Veronica, his daughters… An unacceptable conclusion. There had to be another way. A pawn. A puppet.

There would have to be a way to kill him, cut the head of that disgusting serpent named Bad Faith and its power, without facing the wrath of the Dark Lord… And without once again joining his service.

Their gold and service to Malfoy had saved them as of yet, but it was only a matter of time before they demanded more even… He could not bear the thought of it, but he needed to think.

They would demand more even than his eldest daughter as a toy to some- Some bastard child with a bloated sense of self-worth. To even suggest such a marriage was an insult.

Even were Nathaniel to allow this to pass, Daphne would be lost to him. To death, he was quite sure, for the Malfoy spawn would bleed out before he touched Daphne of her own accord, and then her fate would be sealed just as surely.

The options were unacceptable; Lord Greengrass needed new options.

'

As the immense overflow of light and heat died down, Harry lay unharmed. The runic circle was gone, no evidence to suggest it was ever even there, as was the blood, the knife and the bowl.

The only things that remained were a stark-naked and unconscious Harry, the talisman glued to his skin like a grisly tattoo and glowing metaphorically though not literally with _life_. If Eliza truly concentrated, she could feel and… almost see the outlines of the runic structure now imbedded in his being. Not in the skin, or the flesh, but in all of him.

It was odd and exciting, almost unprecedented in British wizarding history, a ritual of this magnitude without the sacrifice of another. A… noble ritual, if she could call it that.

It felt to her as though Marcus was the bulwark of the world, soaking up all this punishment so everyone else wouldn't have to. His impassioned speech that first day had lead her towards that line of thought, but his dedication since then spoke louder still. It was truly an odd thought… It stirred sadness and admiration, though she had no idea where it came from.

Green piercing eyes stared up at her, a rough hand touching her cheek. Warm, gentle. She blinked, and he was different, eyes once more blue, never green.

"If you could get me something to cover myself with, that would be great." His voice was rough from disuse even though he used it no more than half an hour ago. Had he screamed? When?

"Oh, I'm sorry, I- I just wanted to make sure you were okay and –," Eliza's own grey eyes widened slightly, but she fought the blush as she quickly took a step back and turned her back on Marcus instead. How was this suddenly embarrassing? He'd been naked in the same room as her for over two hours now and _sure _she'd looked, but as he spoke of it, everything changed abruptly – "What was that at the end? I've never seen anything like it."

Harry smirked as he walked by her, either unwittingly or quite on purpose flashing her again, garnering a repeat of her reaction. "Well, if I had to guess, that was the magic trying to deconstruct and reconstruct, err… me." He rasped. "It wasn't successful, of course, but…" Cough.

"Some of me definitely feels a bit… _newer._ If you know what I mean?" He ducked into the shower room and she followed warily, leaning against the wall outside the frosted glass.

"I have no bloody clue what you mean." She muttered quietly.

Harry ducked his head out of the shower and winked at her. "Fair enough. Can't blame you for being distracted."

Eliza sputtered. "Hah! You think rather highly of yourself, don't you?"

Harry laughed and she could see an unmistakable shrug through the glass door. "Anyway, here's the deal: the magic wanted to make me into something else, I could _feel_ it. It wanted to rip free before I was even finished. Which makes sense – it probably attempted to induce my animagus transformation."

Eliza's brow furrowed. "- But that shouldn't happen until the next stage and - and that's probably why it failed, right? That's actually good news though, or else you might've been stuck in your animal form; the changes of _this_ ritual are supposed to be permanent."

"That's what I was thinking, yeah; so, how about we get Bill in here and –"

"In your shower?" Eliza interrupted slyly.

"NO! – Eh, I mean, yeah, no. One man shower, this –," Her semi-hysterical laughter snapped him out of it, but Eliza was sure she could detect a blush even through the glass. "Very funny, Liz. Har-har-har."

"You reaction? Yeah, priceless. So you want to run some diagnostics before we proceed?"

"My thought exactly. A shitload of diagnostics, to be a little more specific." She couldn't help but chuckle. "So, yeah. Get your arse out of my bathroom and call Bill, can't be too careful here."

'

"You are an absolute idiot!" Bill snapped angrily, "Why the hell did I let you do this alone? Do you think that I_ just might_ have considered it's not a good idea to wear jewelry in a Ritual where you are supposed to forsake all material things?" Bill grabbed Harry's wrist roughly, shoving the offending item in front of Eliza's face. "Bloody hell!"

"I'm sorry, Bill, I mean – fuck – you didn't want to be present and – Well, I'm the one that has a freaking bracelet _growing out of my arm_." Harry felt like a twat. 'Who misses that? Goddammi –'

"I was too caught up with the correct placement of the Inka-Mayan combination rune structure around the Power Rune and –" Eliza was rambling. She was, if anything, feeling worse than Harry. She had studied this… _'Beginner's mistake,__ you__ freakin' idiot!'_

"Oh, shut up, the both of you. You got real fucking lucky. I should kill you just to preserve the balance of the universe really." Bill took a deep breath and seemed to calm down slightly. A small smile finally tugged at his lips, though he still looked disheveled, his long reddish hair having halfway escaped his ponytail while he ranted. "Actually, when I think about it, your deep-seated incompetence is pretty funny."

"Who likes a balanced universe anyway, huh?" Harry tried meekly, watching closely as the bracelet circulated inside his wrist when he pulled it. It didn't hurt, but they needed to research this pronto. Who could tell how this would affect him? That his Marcus-disguise was still in place was a small blessing.

"Alright then, where do we start? Matter-composition analysis, healing scans, trace the ward-patterns of the runes in him?" Eliza turned to Bill, determined to at least not screw this part up, to right her wrong in any way she could.

What was that bracelet anyway? Now that it was the topic of discussion, Eliza couldn't help but notice the vibrations of magic radiating off of it.

'

Excerpts of The Daily Prophet

8th of August, 1995

BOY-WHO-LIVED MISSING!

CLAIMED INHERITANCE AND DISAPPEARED!

(…)

The details of last fortnights Wizengamot session have finally been disclosed, and hidden among the dredge of minor law modifications about the rights of Lycans, policies regarding floo-travel and cauldron-bottom thickness _t__his _reporter found quite the gem.

The ascendance to Lord Potter and subsequent disappearing act of one Harry James Potter apparently came to light during the Grand Fall Session when the Boy-Who-Lived was noted as not in attendance by the inherent magic of the hall.

Further, Chief Warlock and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Albus Dumbledore was noted as being assigned as the Boy-Who-Lived's magical guardian and admitted to having no knowledge of the boy's whereabouts.

(…)

We have to ask ourselves, is a man who can not look after his _one_ legal charge really someone we want running our courts and legislature? Is he someone we want to have the ultimate responsibility over all of our children, come the new school year? This reporter, for one, thinks a full-scale investigation should be launched into the continued competency of the esteemed Headmaster; it seems that perhaps, dementia has begun to take its toll.

Even more so, we have to ask ourselves: Where is the Boy-Who-Lived? The boy who just months ago tried to convince our Minister that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had risen from the grave. Has the boy gone insane, finally snapped from the immense pressure of his celebrity? Has he turned dark, guided down that godforsaken path by the hubris of said station?

(…)

'

The cold night air felt good against his skin, soothing the aches and keeping him alert.

They'd been devising different tests and running pre-existing ones for similar incidents for well over a day now, and Harry was getting mighty tired. Nothing much seemed wrong with the results of the ritual. A splinching diagnostic had showed that the bracelet and the part of his forearm it was running through were actually occupying the same space without interfering with eachother, but that was the only inconsistency they could find. There was no hole or wound – somehow. This had not been the plan.

He kept running, kept breathing, and kept feeling the burn and the wind. Oddly his nightmares had been muted during the night, but instead new worries filled his day.

Bill and Eliza insisted St. Mungos might be the only way to get his answers, but he adamantly refused unless the situation became truly threatening. Mostly this was because he had no idea what would happen in that place.

Having the ritual noticed and reported wouldn't be good for his health and if the bracelet was removed from his arm in front of a roomful of strangers, then he was well and truly fucked. His anonymity was what allowed him this life of training and progress, of not being constantly hounded or falling for the pitfall of considering this time a holiday when really it was a war that had already started. It was just a bloody cold one, as of yet.

It would seem there was no option but to quit or proceed – and Harry was no quitter.

Muggle London. Well, just London really, he supposed – and it was magical in its own small way. It was beautiful in the nighttime, when less people where milling about and the city seemed almost calm. He had been running all over lately, no longer quite as worried at leaving the flat now that he could apparate. His eyes found a steep incline, and he smiled, and rushed towards it.

Reaching the top he stopped for a breather, just about ready to apparate back home. The safe house at 15b Museiq Alley had turned into home at some point without him even realizing.

A bell tinkled as the door to a Chinese restaurant opened and a family of four exited, a middle-aged couple with two small children, perhaps seven and ten years old, one boy and one girl.

Harry tried to smile through his panting as the small boy pointed at him excitedly with the hand not occupied by a lollipop, whispering something to his mother.

The brunette woman gave him an apologetic look, chastising the boy. "It's not nice to point at people, Edward."

Harry froze suddenly, as did the air around them.

'Damn it, careless!' He should've sensed it earlier. He would've, had he not considered running his own private little vacation. 'Idiot.'

As the windows of the restaurant started frosting over, Harry saw three dark shapes emerging from the shadows behind the suddenly shivering family.

The holly wand was in Harry's hand in an instant and he danced out into the sparsely trafficked street away from the family, without even thinking. But the Dementors were almost upon them, already draining every bit of warmth and happiness, and it seemed they wouldn't relinquish an easy meal just to chase him.

The children were crying now, as Harry rushed towards them, the couple looking around themselves in fright and clutching the younglings close – not able to see their real aggressors, they fixated on the rampaging teenager barreling towards them.

_Rage and fire._

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry bellowed unthinkingly, all lessons of silent casting forgotten, the thought of living a carefree life with Sirius and his friends at the forefront of his mind. The thought of no longer needing to be this hardened machine.

The results surprised him as much as the muggles. Just as the Dementors dug their skeletal fingers into their prey, a giant silvery serpentine creature erupted from his wand, unrecognizable in its swiftness. 'But that sure as hell wasn't Prongs…'

It charged through the family, barreling the Dementors every which way, snapping at them with claws and fangs; tearing through them, it was a blur of continuous movement.

Unearthly shrieks filled the air as the Dementors fled Harry's rapidly fading creation, while the muggles cowered against the restaurant's window.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked breathlessly, clasping the shoulder of the middle-aged man. The brown eyes met his with fear.

"Wh-what are you?" The man pleaded desperately. "What did you do to us?"

"I- What?" Harry stammered, backing away in shock. "I didn't do anything, there were… Creatures here, awful things, I had to help you!" But four pairs of eyes still met him with fright.

"I didn't – I didn't see anything until _you," _The brunette's voice was an accusation, "_You_ shot some silvery light at us, and then those horrifying screams –"

"YOU GET AWAY FROM MY FAMILY!" The man bellowed, having evidently regained his courage, and Harry stumbled backwards into the street.

No thought to apparition, Harry turned and ran the other direction.

_CRACK-ACK-RACK!_

'_No way. Not this quickly. Never, ever this quickly. FUCK!' _Harry wanted to cry.

Aurors, scarlet robes and all, six of them and perhaps 300 feet in front of him. Fuck. Harry's mind was racing.

"I can explain!" Harry yelled in desperation, but that only served to make them draw their wands and focus said instruments on him.

"Stop in the name of the Ministry! You are suspected of a level 3 break of the Statute of Secrecy!"

"Throw down your wand and surrender quietly!"

"If you will not, we are authorized to use extreme force to bring you in!"

'_Oh, hell no.'_ Swish-swish went his hand almost of it's own accord, and the asphalt rose like two giant waves, folding in towards the Aurors, cutting of their view of him.

Harry's senses began spreading instinctually as the Aurors blasted through it and opened fire. He dodged two Stunners and returned a wide-angle Slicing curse that wounded at least one wand arm before he had to sidestep a Foehammer. The Aurors were sparing no brutality in trying to capture him, it seemed, as the Curse could easily have shattered his ribcage. He ducked another Cutting Curse, uncomfortably aimed towards his neck. Another swish towards the pavement provided cover as he turned on his heel once more and ran.

There was no rational thought to it, but some small part of his mind knew that it was better to avoid a full-out battle against what was supposedly his allies in the coming war. The muggle London was most certainly not free of innocent bystanders, as he dodged past several dumbfounded Londoners simply watching the display. Apparition wards were up, he realized now, and he couldn't feel how far they extended.

'_Damn it all…' _Harry ducked left around a building and avoided another Bludgeoning Hex narrowly.

A young woman, perhaps 20, rounded the corner ahead of him and recoiled slightly as she noticed him rapidly moving towards her. With a feeling of dismay in the pit of his stomach, he noticed the curse zooming towards his unprotected back, hoping it was a stunner.

_Duck_, the red curse sent the girl into a pirouette before she landed in a slumped heap against the curb of the pavement. _Jump__,_ Harry barely registered the trail of crimson streaming from her shoulder and he kept running. _R__ight_, the situation caught up to him as he rounded the corner and dodged yet another bolt of greenish magic. _Bloody hell!_ Harry ducked into an alley momentarily, panting hard.

The Aurors just wounded a civilian. A muggle. That girl hadn't done anything wrong. _FUCK._

_Rage and fire._

Harry Potter stepped out of hiding, a twirl of his wand slamming the nearest Auror into the wall of the building with a resounding _CRACK_ of broken bone.

"Take him DOWN!"

The Aurors returned fire with a couple of Bludgeoners but Harry was already moving again – he was still tired, hardly recovered from his jog around London, and dodging the continued barrage while sprinting had worn him down.

Even if they hadn't injured that girl, he would've had to make a stand, but now the rage burned through his veins. Getting captured was not an option.

Twisting on the spot mid-run, he fell into a backwards roll, neatly avoiding the next barrage as he came to a stop on his feet, his wand flying through practiced motions as he twisted to the side and let a straggling Piercing Curse brush by his clothes.

Four streaks of violet, blue and red shot towards his aggressors as Harry grinned viciously. Caught by surprise, two of the five remaining Aurors were battered into the ground by a Foehammer and a Piercing Curse, two others shielding themselves just in time.

Harry danced to the left, avoiding the concentrated return volley with ease and crumbled the brick wall of a building down on top of a third Auror with an overpowered summoning spell.

The hunt was in his blood now, driving him on as he twisted ever closer to his remaining two opponents, intending to neutralize them with close-range Stunners.

As Harry weaved through an ever more desperate arsenal of spells directed towards him, he saw fear in those two remaining pairs of eyes, so much fear of him in one evening.

Suddenly, a Piercer smashed straight through his shoulder from almost point-blank range.

Harry faltered for a moment, almost getting tagged with a Stunner as a Cutting Curse sliced into his right thigh.

'_Fucking USELESS!' _Harry screamed furiously in his head, once again moving through the barrage, sometimes forced to shield now that his mobility was shot. He had been reckless and stupid to get so close, but more importantly… _'Don't discount an opponent that isn't dead!'_

Harry finally saw an opening and the rage in his blood screamed at him to take it, and so he did.

_Slash, stab, twirl, semi-circle. _One of the still standing Aurors was slammed into the other by the curved Bludgeon, apparently not as agile as Harry himself, and as they grunted in pain from the impact the Piercing Curse stabbed straight through them both at chest level.

They crumbled in a motionless heap as a blood red curse zoomed towards the downed Auror that had first tagged him with the Piercer. The tainted, _dark_ Piercer.

Harry sensed the downed Auror now, sensed the taint upon his arm, he was so close. The Blood-boiler was a mistake, a maneuver trained for war, not for spats with the magical police force. But this Auror was not just a government official, he was a Death Eater as well.

The short-lived screams of the dark-haired Auror on the ground chilled Harry to his bones and for a moment or an eternity, he was frozen, stock still in the middle of all that carnage.

Nobody moved, all that was left was the moaning of the wounded. Blood, gore and demolition, splattered all over, one Auror not much more than a mess of flesh.

Harry's left arm was useless, hanging limply by his side, but his magic was fighting the spreading paralysis of the curse; his right hand still pointed the holly wand at what was left of the man that had rendered it so.

Suddenly time reasserted itself and Harry realized that it was over. He had to move, now more than ever; immediately he set of once again at a limping run, searching for the edge of the apparition wards.

He heard sirens in the distance, approaching quickly. Hopefully an ambulance was among them.

One building away and completely exhausted now that the adrenaline had left his system, he found his exit, and with a soft _'pop!'_ Harry Potter was gone.

'_One fucking building away.'_

'

AN: Hey! Sorry about the wait, even though I've been pretty clear about the fact that I have no planned updates. In fact, I have no plan at all. I'll be starting a new job next week, exciting stuff, and it means I'll probably have even less time and energy to write – but hang in there.

I'm starting to see this as a challenge to keep writing no matter how crappy I find the plot and results, and I really do want to finally finish a novel-length story. That would be nice.

Many thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! That being said…

Suggestions? Opinions? Come ooon. Hit me!


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